WSB   LIBRARY 


THE  VACANT  CHAIR 


AND 


OTHER   POEMS. 


BY 


HENRY    STEVENSON    WASHBURN. 


SILVER,  BURDETT    AND    COMPANY, 

NEW  YOKK  .   .  .  BOSTON  .   .   .  CHICAGO. 

1895. 


Copyright,  1895, 
BY  HENRY  STEVENSON  WASHBURN. 


Mnttiersttj  ^rrss : 

JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE,  U.S.A. 


These  I'erses,  ivritte)i  in  //it,'  leisure  moments 
of  a  life  devoted  to  business  pursuits  and  matters 
of  public  concern,  are  published  at  tlie  request  of 
many  friends,  to  u'honi  they  are  affectionately  dedi 
cated  by  t/ie  author,  as  the  sJiadoius  of  fourscore 
years  gather  about  /n's  pathway. 


CONTENTS. 


patriotic. 

PAGE 

The  Vacant  Chair 13 

Three  Hundred  and  Ten 19 

Ready  for  the  War         21 

The  Deserted  Camp  of  the  .Massachusetts  Fifty-First 
They  are  coming  back  daily,  one  by  one       .... 

Keep  green  their  Memories 

God  speed  the  Right 29 

Massachusetts  to  South  Carolina    ...          ...  30 

Contrasts 32 

JJUscellaneous. 

The  Good  Time  coming 35 

Fourth  of  July  in  Switzerland 38 

John  Bright  at  Seventy 1.0 

A  Day  in  June        42 

The  Bells  of  Yevay 44 

The  Rose 46 

Sunset  on  Lake  Winnipesaukee 47 

The  Marriage  upon  the  Sidewalk 49 

The  Song  and  the  Singer 53 

The  Boy  Bathers  ....          56 


viii  CONTENTS. 

PAGK 

The  East  Wind 59 

April 60 

The  hungry  Students 61 

Sunset  on  Lake  Leman 67 

Morning  in  the  Isle  of  Wight 70 

The  Brook  of  my  Boyhood 72 

Among  the  Hills 75 

Laura  May 76 

To  the  first  Robin 78 

The  Lesson  of  the  Morning 80 

The  Poet's  Corner 82 

To  J.  T.  F 85 

A  Sabbath  in  the  Isle  of  Wight 86 

Clerical  Vestments ,     .  89 

The  Secret 93 

Remembered  Music 95 

To  a  Forest  Bird  at  Sunset 97 

Kansas 98 

Boston  to  Chicago 100 

Burning  of  Chicago 102 

Saturday  Night 104 

Only  Waiting 106 

The  Pilgrim  Fathers 109 

Twilight in 

Boston  Light  in  November 113 

Upon  the  Sea 115 

The  last  Robin 117 

Song  of  the  Harvest 119 

The  Week  before  Christmas 121 

December 123 

The  Wayside  Rest 124 

Another  Year        125 

The  Portrait  Painter 126 

To  Samuel  Francis  Smith 127 

Ode 129 


CONTEXTS.  IX 

PAGE 

Let  every  Heart  rejoice  and  sing 131 

Tremont  Temple        133 

^Domestic. 

Home        137 

Eden 139 

Hoy  and  Maiden 142 

The  Cottage  Bonnet        144 

Early  and  Later  Love 146 

Our  Old  Homestead 148 

Starting  in  Life 150 

Thanksgiving  Eve 152 

The  School-Boy's  Vacation 154 

The  Trouble  of  the  House 156 

To  N.  at  Thirty-two 159 

Maria        161 

Our  Child 163 

Our  Household  Pet 164 

To  \.  at  Twenty-one 166 

A  Sunbeam        168 

Thy  Name 170 

Song  of  the  Chip-bird 171 

An  Epistle  from  the  Rhine     ....           ....  173 

Our  Cottage  Home.      Xo.  r    .     .           175 

Our  Cottage  Home.     No.  2 178 

Meta 181 

Mary    ...                                       184 

Shine  and  Shadow 186 

!Dcbotton<il. 


X  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The  Grave  of  the  Dairyman's  Daughter 194 

She  hath  done  what  she  could 197 

The  Still  Small  Voice 198 

Storm  on  the  Sabbath 199 

Easter 201 

In  the  Sanctuary 202 

Winter  Evening  Hymn 204 

The  Village  Church 205 

Close  of  the  Week 207 

"Jesus  Christ  Himself" 209 

"Trust  in  me" 211 

The  Pastor's  Reception 212 

Our  Sanctuaries 214 

The  Rock  of  Ages 215 

Zion 217 

Dedicatory  Hymn       219 

Near  to  Port ,  221 


The  Great  Mystery         225 

The  Smitten  President 226 

The  Last  Man  at  his  Guns 228 

Burial  of  Mrs.  Judson 232 

Henry  Morton  Dexter 234 

The  Harvest  of  Death 236 

Samuel  Lunt  Caldwell 239 


Clje 

The  Missionary's  Bride 243 


PATRIOTIC. 


THE   VACANT    CHAIR. 


E  shall  meet,  but  we  shall  miss  him, 
There  will  be  one  vacant  chair : 
We  shall  linger  to  caress  him, 


When  we  breathe  our  evening  prayer. 

When  a  year  ago  we  gathered, 
Joy  was  in  his  mild  blue  eye  ; 

But  a  golden  cord  is  severed, 
And  our  hopes  in  ruin  lie. 

At  our  fireside,  sad  and  lonely, 

Often  will  the  bosom  swell 
At  remembrance  of  the  story,  — 

How  our  noble  Willie  fell ; 

How  he  strove  to  bear  our  banner 
Through  the  thickest  of  the  fight, 

And  upheld  our  country's  honor 

With  the  strength  of  manhood's  might. 
13 


4  PATRIOTIC. 

True,  they  tell  us,  wreaths  of  glory 
Evermore  will  deck  his  brow ; 

But  this  soothes  the  anguish,  only, 
Sweeping  o'er  our  heart-strings  now. 

Sleep  to-day,  O  early  fallen  ! 

In  thy  green  and  narrow  bed  : 
Dirges  from  the  pine  and  cypress 

Mingle  with  the  tears  we  shed. 

We  shall  meet,  but  we  shall  miss  him, 
There  will  be  one  vacant  chair  • 

We  shall  linger  to  caress  him, 

When  we  breathe  our  evening  prayer. 

WORCESTER,  Nov.  16,  1861. 


Lnu'TKXAXT  JOHN  WIL 
LIAM  GUOUT,  the  subject  of 
••  Tlie  Vacant  Chair,"  was 
the  only  son  of  Jonathan  and 
Marv  Jane  (Irout.  and  was 
born  in  Worcester,  Massa 
chusetts.  July  25th,  1X43.  His 
lather  was  a  successful  busi 
ness  man,  and  the  son  en 
joyed  the  excellent  educa 
tional  advantages  given  to 
tlie  young  in  that  enterpris 
ing  city.  lie  was  a  bright 
bov,  and  a  favorite  of  his 
playmates,  by  whom  he  was 
familiarly  known  as  Willie 
('.rout-  It  soon  was  evident 
that  he  was  by  nature  en 
dowed  with  rare  gifts,  physi 
cally  and  mentally. 

'•  Of  medium  stature  and 
symmetrical  proportions,  erect 
carriage  and  remarkably  fine 
and  manly  features,  and  with 
elastic  vigor  and  the  glow  of 
health,  he  might  have  been 
selected  as  a  model  by  an  /] 
artist.1'  v 


1 6  PATRIOTIC. 

The  photograph  herewith  given,  which  was  taken 
just  before  his  departure  for  the  war,  is  an  excellent 
likeness  of  his  personal  presence.  He  was  a  diligent 
student,  and  mastered  easily  subjects  to  which  his 
attention  was  given  ;  but  he  turned  with  special 
interest  to  history,  in  its  relation  to  nations,  and 
their  conflicts  one  with  another.  He  seemed  to 
have  been  born  for  a  military  life  ;  and  inherited 
undoubtedly  a  love  for  the  camp  from  his  ancestors. 
"  He  was  of  the  sixth  generation  from  John  of  Sud- 
bury,  who  was  a  grandson  of  an  English  Knight, 
and  who  distinguished  himself  for  his  heroism  in 
leading  his  townsmen  triumphantly  against  the  as 
saults  of  the  Indians  in  1676, — for  which  he  was 
rewarded  with  a  Captaincy,  then  a  substitute  for 
Knighthood  in  England.'' 

It  was  early  a  question  what  profession  in  life 
he  should  follow,  —  a  matter  which  was  not  settled 
till  he  entered  the  Highland  School  in  his  native  city, 
where  in  the  Military  Department  his  wishes  were 
gratified.  He  joined  the  company  of  Cadets,  and 
soon  became  its  commander.  Hardly  had  his  ambi- 
bition  been  thus  gratified,  when  the  Civil  War  became 
the  all-absorbing  matter  of  interest  to  the  people. 

No  one  was  quicker  than  he  to  see  that  his  hour 
had  come,  and  he  desired  at  once  to  enter  the  army ; 
but  his  parents  withheld  their  consent  for  a  while, 
chiefly  on  account  of  his  youth,  for  he  had  barely 
attained  the  age  when  his  country  could  legally 
claim  his  services.  When  however,  they  yielded  to 
his  importunity,  his  joy  knew  no  bounds  ;  and  with 


THE    VACANT  CHAIR.  IJ 

all  the  ardor  of  his  nature  he  began  preparations 
for  the  service  before  him,  such  as  sleeping  on  the 
floor  to  inure  himself  to  the  hardships  of  life  in 
camp. 

When  the  Massachusetts  i5th  Regiment  was 
organized,  he  received  the  commission  of  second 
lieutenant  of  Company  D,  —  an  honor  rarely  be 
stowed  upon  so  young  a  person.  He  was  very 
popular  in  the  regiment.  His  knowledge  of  mili 
tary  tactics  was  such  that  his  services  as  a  drill- 
master  were  in  constant  demand. 

"  He  assured  his  friends,  not  with  buoyant  rash 
ness,  but  with  serious  candor,  that  he  had  girded  on 
his  armor  for  all  the  emergencies  of  war,  and  for 
victory  or  death.  He  seemed  to  feel  the  solemnities 
as  well  as  the  responsibilites  of  his  position,  but 
never  faltered  in  his  purpose,  or  in  the  duties  he 
was  subsquently  called  to  discharge. 

"It  was  the  fortune  of  the  Massachusetts  ijth 
Regiment  to  do  the  greatest  execution,  and  suffer 
the  greatest  loss,  in  that  disastrous  conflict  at 
Ball's  Bluff,  October  21,  1861." 

The  coolness,  self-possession,  and  courage  of 
Lieutenant  Grout  were  noticed  by  his  comrades 
with  astonishment,  and  greatly  stimulated  the  cour 
age  of  others.  When  the  day  was  lost,  and  they 
were  forced  to  retreat  to  the  river,  he  seemed  to  be 
utterly  regardless  of  himself  in  his  desire  to  have 
the  wounded  conveyed  to  the  opposite  shore.  To 
his  honor  let  it  ever  be  remembered  that  he  crossed 
the  stream  with  a  boat-load  of  the  sufferers,  and 


1 8  PA  TRIO  TIC. 

seeing  them  safely  landed,  returned  to  render  like 
assistance  to  others  ;  and  continued  so  to  do  till  he 
was  obliged  to  plunge  into  the  stream  to  save  his 
own  life.  He  had  reached  the  middle  of  the  river 
when  he  exclaimed  to  a  comrade  at  his  side,  '•  Tell 
Company  D  I  could  have  reached  the  shore,  but  1 
am  shot,  and  must  sink ; "  and  as  the  waters  closed 
over  him,  his  spirit  took  its  flight  from  the  throes 
and  conflicts  of  earth. 

When  his  death  was  announced,  Col.  Devens  with 
deep  emotion  said,  4i  Dear  little  fellow ;  he  came  to 
me  at  the  close  of  the  battle  and  said,  '  Colonel,  can 
I  do  anything  more  for  you  ? '  and  I  replied,  '  Nothing 
but  take  care  of  yourself. 

For  several  weeks  the  Potomac  held  his  body  in 
its  embrace,  to  be  finally  surrendered  to  loving  hands, 
from  whence  it  was  tenderly  borne  to  his  native  city 
for  burial. 

The  heart  of  the  old  Commonwealth  had  never 
known  a  sadder  day  than  when  his  remains,  under 
the  escort  of  the  Highland  Cadets,  attended  by  the 
mayor  and  both  branches  of  the  city  government, 
Col.  Devens,  and  a  large  concourse  of  sympathizing 
citizens,  were  taken  to  the  cemetery  for  interment. 

Many  tears  were  mingled  with  the  volleys  fired 
over  the  grave  of  the  hero,  who,  at  the  early  age  of 
eighteen,  fell  a  voluntary  sacrifice  upon  the  altar  of 
his  country. 


THREE   HUNDRED   AND   TEN! 


When  the  battle  at  Hall's  Bluff  was  announced,  the  mayor  of 
Worcester  despatched  a  messenger  to  the  scene  of  action,  with 
instructions  to  offer  the  Massachusetts  Fifteenth  Regiment,  in 
behalf  of  the  city,  any  assistance  or  succor  they  might  require. 
He  returned  with  this  message  :  "  Tell  our  friends  at  home  that  we 
want  immediately  three  hundred  and  ten  men.  to  fill  the  places 
of  those  killed  and  missing,  and  a  blanket  and  pair  of  mittens  for 
each  of  us.  This  is  all  we  ask  of  them  for  the  present." 


ISTEX  !  wanted   to-day,  three   hundred 


Of  the   strong  and   the  brave  of  New 

England  men  : 

They  're  wanted  to  fill  a  dread  chasm  that 's  made 
In   the    gallant    Fifteenth    by  the   ball    and    the 

blade. 
From    the  heart  of  the  Commonwealth,    steady 

and  true, 

The  call  To  THE  RESCUE  !  is  sounded  anew  : 
Ho  !  men  of  the  anvil,  ho  !  men  of  the  plow, 
Gird  the  armor  on  quickly ;  nay,  tarry  not  now  : 
Ho  !  merchant   and  banker,  ho  !   statesman   and 

priest, 
Ho  !  lawyer  and  client,  ho  !   men  at  the  feast, 


20  PATRIOTIC. 

To-day  there  are  wanted  three  hundred  and  ten 
Of  the  strong  and   the   brave  of  New  England 

men ; 
They  are    wanted    to  fill  a  dread  chasm  that 's 

made 
In  the  gallant  Fifteenth  by  the  ball  and  the  blade. 

We  've  a  noble  Republic  to  lose  or  to  save,  — 
The  boon  that  the  blood  of  our  ancestors  gave  ; 
A  land  that  was  flowing  with  honey  and  wine, 
Till  the  cry  of  disunion  polluted  its  shrine. 
From  the  Heart  of  the    Commonwealth,  steady 

and  true, 

The  call  To  THE  RESCUE  !  is  sounded  anew  : 
By  the  love  that  we  bear  for  our  Puritan  sires, 
By   our   altars  and    temples,    our    bright    winter 

fires,  — 

Our  country,  dear  land  of  the  free  and  the  brave, 
With  the  blessing  of  God,  we  are  summoned  to 

save. 

Then  on  TO  THE  RESCUE  !  Three  hundred  and  ten 
Of  the  strong  and  the  brave  of  New  England  men, 
You  're  wanted  to  fill  the  dread  chasm  that 's 

made 
In    the    gallant    Fifteenth    by  the    ball    and    the 

blade. 


READY   FOR   THE   WAR, 


'•  I  am  going  home  to  kiss  my  mother,  and  then  I  'm  off  for 

the  War." 

(Remark  of  a  Volunteer.) 


K  stood  beneath  an  autumn  sky, 
A  youth  of  proud  and  manly  mien  ; 
The  blast  of  war  went  wailing  by, 


And  grief  in  many  eyes  was  seen; 
And  pausing  but  a  moment  more, 

He  ran  to  take  one  fond  embrace, 
Then  sprang  at  duty's  trumpet-call, 

To  meet  the  foeman  face  to  face. 

And  as  he  flew  on  eagle  wing, 

His  country's  honor  to  defend, 
I  heard  from  lips  all-quivering, 

His  mother's  prayer  to  Heaven  ascend, 
"Clod  shield,  wherever  duty  leads, 

The  darling  of  my  heart  to-night  ! 
Upon  Thy  arm  let  him  rely, 

The  brave  defender  of  the  Right  !  " 


22  PATRIOTIC. 

Then  from  her  couch  bedewed  with  tears, 

Columbia,  daughter  of  the  skies, 
Heard  shouts  transcending  human  fears, 

From  hearts  unawed,  —  "  Arise,  arise  !  " 
"  No  hand  shall  pluck  a  single  star 

From  that  fair  coronet  of  thine  ; 
The  form  his  ruthless  touch  would  mar 

Shall  still  in  regal  beauty  shine  !  " 

The  watchword  leaped  from  out  the  waves 

That  broke  upon  our  rock-bound  shores ; 
It  rang  from  Berkshire's  granite  caves, 

Where  the  proud  bird  of  Freedom  soars ; 
From  lake  and  stream,  from  hill  and  dell, 

One  answering  echo  made  reply, 
"  The  Bay  State  knows  her  duty  well,  — 

Her  sons  will  triumph  —  or  will  die  !  " 

And  I  am  sure  —  since  such  as  thine, 

Land  of  my  Pilgrim  sires  and  pride, 
Their  life-blood  offer  on  thy  shrine, 

And  sternly  battle  side  by  side  — 
Our  dear  old  flag  will  higher  still, 

Wave  proudly  over  land  and  sea ; 
For  those  strong  Saxon  words,  "  We  will," 

Bear  on  to  Victory  the  Free  ! 


THE     DESERTED     CAMP     OF    THE 
MASSACHUSETTS    FIFTY-FIRST. 

O  sentinel  paces  his  weary  round, 

Silent     and     lone     is     their    camping- 
ground  ; 

No  roll-call  at  sunset,  no  drum-beat  at  morn, 
Xo  blast  of  the  bugle,  no  peal  of  the  horn  ! 
They  came  when  the  harvest-moon,   mellow  and 

mild. 

Shone  over  the  pathways  of  mother  and  child, 
And   the   hunters'    moon   witnessed   her    tears  as 

they  fell. 
When  her  soldier  boy  whispered  his  last  farewell. 

I  passed  by  the  camp  this  brief  dark  day  ; 
The  snows  of  December  upon  it  lay; 
The  murky  skies  like  a  leaden  pall 
Settled  down  drearily  over  all ; 
A  silence  oppressive  pervaded  the  air, 
And  1  tarried  only  a  moment  there,  — 
Only  a  moment,  for  the  joy  and  the  light 
Of  our  homes  and  our  altars  have   passed  from 
our  sight. 

2  3 


24  PATRIOTIC. 

Our  noble  boys  of  our  brave  Fifty-First, 

Whom  our  hearts  have  cherished  and  hands  have 

nurst, 

They  of  the  quick  eye  and  fine  manly  brow,  — 
Tell  us,  O  South  Wind  !  where  are  they  now? 
And  the  South  Wind  answers,  and  this  the  reply  : 
"  They  're  bearing  the  Stars  and  Stripes  proudly 

on  high ; 

Under  the  pines  they  are  marching  to-day, 
Farther  away  —  and  still  farther  away  !  " 

FATHER  all-merciful,  mighty  and  just, 
Tenderly  shelter  our  Fifty-First ; 
Nerve  them  for  conflict  with  valor  and  might, 
While    they  're    defending    the    Truth    and    the 

Right; 

Evermore  shield  them  by  night  and  by  day, 
Whilst  marching  away — and  still  farther  away  ! 

December  22,  1862. 


THEY  ARE  COMING  BACK  DAILY, 
ONE  BY  ONE. 

]HEY  are  coming  back  daily,  one  by  one  ; 
Their   warfare    is    finished,    their    labor 

done  : 
'Mid  the  scenes  of  his  childhood  make  room  for 

the  brave, 

And  give  to  our  country's  defender  a  grave  ! 
With  the  signet  of  death  on  his  fine  manly  brow, 
Bear  tenderly  onward  the  young  hero  now ; 
Let  the  drum  beat  a  dirge  while  we  lay  him  to 

rest, 

And  mingle  our  tears  with  the  turf  on  his  breast. 
They  are  coming  back  daily,  one  by  one ; 
Their  warfare  is  finished,  their  labor  done. 

They  are  coming  back  daily,  but  the  quick  eye  is 

dim, 

And  motionless  now  the  once  vigorous  limb, 
The  heart  which  beat  only  for  country  and  fame 
Is   still,  while  we  wreathe   with    fresh   laurels  his 

name. 

25 


26  r A  TRIO  TIC. 

We  shall  miss  his  glad  shout  when  we  welcome  the 

dawn, 
When  the  shadows  of  evening  stretch   over  the 

lawn, 

Oh,  how  we  shall  miss  him,  as  year  after  year, 
We   come  with  our  garlands  to  twine  round  his 

bier  ! 

With  the  signet  of  death  on  his  ftne  manly  brow, 
Bear  tenderly  onward  the  young  hero  now  ; 
Let  the  drum  beat  a  dirge  while  we  lay  him  to 

rest, 

And  mingle  our  tears  with  the  turf  on  his  breast. 
They  are  coming  back  daily,  one  by  one  ; 
Their  warfare  is  finished,  their  labor  done  ! 


KEEP    GREEN   THEIR    MEMORIES. 


MEMORIAL   HYMN. 


KEP  green  their  memories,  day  by  day. 

These  pleasant  paths  with  us  they  trod, 
While  prayer  and  praise  beguiled  the  way 


To  this  dear  temple  of  our  God. 

We  knew  not  that  the  foeman's  hand 
Was  raised  to  strike  the  deadly  blow ; 

That  over  all  our  happy  land, 

So  soon  would  break  the  wail  of  woe. 

The  heavens  grew  darker  in  that  hour, 
When  they,  the  noble  and  the  brave, 

Went  forth  in  manhood's  pride  and  power, 
And  passed  through  victory  to  the  grave 

Such  lives  can  never  know  decay ; 

New  lustre  gilds  the  martyr's  name, 
And  greener,  as  time  wears  away, 

Is  his  immortal  wreath  of  fame. 

27 


28  PATRIOTIC. 

Then  let  our  consecrated  shrines 
Keep  record  of  the  early  dead, 

And  treasure  in  undying  lines 

The  paths  of  glory  they  have  led  ; 

That  lisping  youth,  and  hoary  age, 

While  tears  shall  start  and  bosoms  swell, 

May  read  upon  the  marble  page 

How  Freedom's  heroes  fought  and  fell. 


GOD    SPEED    THE    RIGHT! 

HE    sun   which   rose  through  storm 
and  strife 

Sets  on  a  Land  at  peace  ; 
For  over  all  the  bugle  call 

Bids  war  and  tumult  cease  ; 
And  men  who  yesterday  were  seen 

Contending  with  their  might, 
With  one  accord  let  go  the  past, 

And  shout,  "  God  speed  the  Right  !  " 

God  speed  the  right  !    be  this  our  prayer. 

Our  earnest  watch- word  still, 
As  onward  fair  Columbia 

Her  mission  doth  fulfil  : 
God  speed  the  Right  !    ()  loyal  heart, 

Trust  now  and  evermore  ; 
The  bow  of  promise  spans  our  land, 

From  Fast  to  Western  shore. 


29 


MASSACHUSETTS   TO   SOUTH 
CAROLINA. 


On  the  sailing  of  the  first  steamer  from  Boston  to  Charleston 
at  the  close  of  the  war. 


RAY  tell  us,  brave   pilot,  what  meaneth 
the  signal 

The  good  ship  unfurls  as  she  leaps  to 
the  sea? 

Where  lieth  the  haven  to  which  she  is  bearing 
The  stars  and  the  stripes,  with  the  hopes  of  the 
Free  ? 

"  That  flag  to  the  world  is  a  pledge  of  reunion, 
Of  ties  rudely  sundered,  reunited  once  more  ; 

Massachusetts  to  South  Carolina  sends  greeting, 
As  warmly  and  truly  as  ever  before. 

"  Knew  ye  not,  when  the  peal  of  the  last  gun  of 

battle 

Died  away  from  our  valleys  and  hills,  then  arose 
The  Day-star  of  Peace,  which  o'er  our  broad  acres, 
Its  light  on  the  nation  benignantly  throws? 
3° 


MASSACHUSETTS    TO  SOl'TH  CAROLINA.    31 

"  That  star  is  our  guide  as  to-day  o'er  the  billows 
The    North    to    the    South    sends   good    wishes 

anew  ; 

With  her  prayer  that  our  Union  may  be  as  endur 
ing 

As  the  pledge  she  now  proffers  is  unstinted  and 
true." 


CONTRASTS. 

E  oft  have  seen  when  swept  the  tempest 

by, 

The   smiling   rainbow  in  the  weeping 
sky  : 

And  we  have  seen  when  ocean's  storms  were  o'er, 
The  placid  ripple  on  the  wave-washed  shore. 


3  2 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


IF,  O  cherished  friend  of  mine, 
You  shall  trace  in  any  line 
Aught  herein  which  will  impart 
Strength  and  courage  to  your  heart, 
Something  making  life  more  dear 
As  your  footsteps  linger  here, — 
Then  not  all  in  vain  is  flung 
To  the  breeze  the  verse  I  Ye  sung ; 
Doing  better  than  I  knew, 
When  I  sang  a  strain  for  you. 


THE   GOOD   TIME   COMING. 

There  's  a  good  time  coming,  boys, 

A  good  time  coming  : 
We  may  not  live  to  see  the  day, 
But  earth  shall  glisten  in  the  ray 
Of  the  good  time  coming  ; 
Wait  a  little  longer. 

CHARLES  MACKAY, 

HUS  a  bard  of  Britain  prophesied  ; 

And  his  numbers,  all  aglow, 
Passed  o'er  us  like  the  breath  of  morn, 
Full  many  years  ago. 
And  visions  of  the  good  time 

Came  trooping  into  view, 
And  clothed  the  bright  hereafter 
In  tints  of  rainbow  hue. 

We  dreamed  of  peace  and  plenty, 

Of  the  olive  and  the  vine, 
Of  the  reapers  and  the  gleaners, 

Of  the  full  corn  and  the  wine  ; 
We  dreamed  of  shackles  fallen, 

Of  man  erect  and  free, 
Of  golden  cords  of  brotherhood, 

And  anthems  of  the  sea. 
35 


36  MISCELLANEOUS. 

But  while  we  waited,  grimly, 

With  iron  heel  and  hand, 
The  War-God  stalked  triumphantly 

Through  all  our  pleasant  land  ; 
And  sobs  and  lamentations 

Went  up  from  hill  and  plain, 
For  the  manly  hearts  that  quailed  not, 

Upon  our  altars  slain. 

The  years  have  come  and  vanished, 

But  bitterness  and  strife 
Still  cast  their  baneful  shadows 

O'er  all  that 's  dear  in  life. 
Even  now  contention  rageth, 

For  borne  on  every  breeze 
Come  tidings  of  the  conflicts 

In  lands  beyond  the  seas. 

The  bard  and  prophet  liveth, 

But  what  for  human  ken? 
The  good  time  's  coming,  is  it  ? 

O  weary  watcher,  when  ? 
And  countless  heroes  answer, 

Along  the  world's  highways, 
"  O  faint  of  heart,  take  courage  ! 

These  are  the  better  days. 


THE    GOOD    TIME    COMING.  37 

"  Hast  them  not  marked  the  progress 

Of  knowledge  among  men?  — 
How  mercy  tempers  justice, 

And  th'  sword  yields  to  the  pen? 
How  right  o'er  might  prevaileth, 

How  Peace  her  balm  distils, 
Whilst  Ceres,  smiling  goddess, 

Her  horn  of  plenty  fills? 
And  fairer  is  the  brightness, 

As  Time  his  chart  unrolls, 
Of  the  light  which  comes  to  gladden 

All  weary  waiting  souls. 

"  Yet  never,  yearning  brother, 

Wilt  thou  perfection  find  ; 
Some  grain  will  be  umvinnowed, 

Some  gold  be  unrefined  — 
Some  hearts  will  pine  in  sorrow, 

Some  giope  through  doubt  and  fear; 
Oh,  never  canst  thou  realize 

The  full  fruition  here. 

"  Still,  over  all  forever, 

The  star  of  hope  will  shine  ; 
After  the  frail  and  human 

Will  come  the  life  divine  !" 


FOURTH    OF    JULY    IN    SWITZER 
LAND. 

STRANGER    wandering    through    thy 

vales, 

Land  of  the  mountains  wild  and  free  ! 
Steps  lighter  as  this  July  morn 

Breaks  on  his  home  beyond  the  sea ; 

For  whilst  thy  solitudes  sublime 

Still  lure  him  in  his  onward  way, 
His  heart  turns  fondly  back  to  where 

His  country  hails  her  natal  day. 

How  like  the  whispers  in  a  dream 
Come  voices  on  the  passing  breeze  ; 

Dear  messages  of  love  and  hope, 
From  under  the  Atlantic  seas. 

And  all  day  long  as  glide  the  hours, 
Those  mystic  cords  of  brotherhood, 

Which  link  the  old  world  with  the  new, 
Will  thrill  with  greetings  understood. 
38 


FOURTH  OF  JULY  I  A7  SWJ  TS.F.RLAND.     39 

Brave  land  1   our  aims  and  hopes  are  one  ; 

The  seed  our  fathers  sowed  \ve  reap ; 
Upon  thine  everlasting  hills, 

Doth  Freedom  bright  her  watch-fires  keep. 

Freedom  !   this  is  thy  Jubilee  ! 

C)  mountain  fastnesses  which  long 
Have  held  the  jewel  in  embrace, 

Join  in  the  jubilate  song. 

And  let  the  paean  onward  roil, 

Till  wars  shall  end  and  tumuli  cease  ; 

And  over  every  land,  unfurled, 

Shall  float  thy  banner,  Prince  of  Peace  ! 


JOHN   BRIGHT   AT   SEVENTY. 

E  send  him  greetings  o'er  the  sea  ! 
Columbia's    tried    and    steadfast 

friend ; 

Most  steadfast  when  her  foes  combined 
The  laurels  from  her  brow  to  rend. 

His  earnest  eloquence  is  like 

The  sturdy  speech  of  Chatham's  time, 
When  England's  more  than  monarch  hailed 

The  glory  of  this  Western  clime,  — 

This  goodly  heritage  of  ours, 

Purged  from  th'  oppressor's  rod  and  sin, 
Her  ample  gates  wide  open  flung, 

For  earth's  worn  millions  to  come  in. 

We  have  our  mission,  thou  hast  thine  — 

O  fatherland,  to  truth  be  true  ! 
With  the  dead  past  we  leave  the  old, 

And  stretch  our  hands  to  clasp  the  new. 

And  we  are  glad  so  brave  a  heart, 
Reared  at  thine  altars,  sees  the  morn 

Of  liberty  for  all  mankind, 

From  out  our  night  of  suff  ring  born. 
40 


JOHN  U RIGHT  AT  SEVENTY. 

His  hand  we  hold  in  ours  to-day, 
With  blessings  on  his  honored  name, 

While  patriot  hearts  round  all  the  world, 
Exult  in  his  unsullied  fame. 


J 


A   DAY   IN   JUNE. 

FIELDS  in  June's  fair  verdure  drest, 
And  vocal  now  with  birds  and  bees  ! 
A  toiler  from  the  world's  highways 
I  turn,  with  willing  feet,  to  these, 
Inhaling  here  the  morning  breeze. 

The  air  is  moist  with  last  night's  rain, 
Through  op'ning  clouds  the  sun  appears, 

The  robin,  earliest  of  the  train 

The  plough-boy  at  his  window  hears, 
Repeats  the  song  of  other  years. 

I  tread  with  lighter  steps  anew 

The  pathways  of  my  boyhood's  morn  ; 

The  sky  o'erhead  is  just  as  blue, 

And  just  as  green  the  springing  corn, 
And  sweet  the  scent  of  thyme  and  thorn. 

No  care  then  rankled  in  my  breast ; 

No  sorrow  on  my  spirit  fell ; 
The  cool  green  sward  my  bare  feet  prest, 

The  lowing  herds  they  knew  me  well, 

And  I,  the  daisy  in  the  dell. 
42 


A    DAY  IN  y('A'£.  43 

The  squirrel  had  his  hiding  place, 
And  I  had  mine  beside  the  brook; 

He  gathered  nuts  from  day  to  day, 
Whilst  I  a  constant  lesson  took 
From  him,  and  nature's  wondrous  book. 

()  fair  green  fields  and  summer  skies  ! 

0  visions  of  long  time  ago  ! 

()  well-remembered  haunts,  and  chimes 
Which  from  perennial  fountains  flow  ! 
(Had  voices  from  the  vales  below. 

Here  let  me  bathe  my  weary  brow 
In  this  delicious  air  of  day; 

All  laden  as  it  cometh  now 

With  fragrance  from  the  new-mown  hay, 
The  blackbird's  and  the  robin's  lay. 

The  busy  world  will  not  intrude, 

Nor  Mammon  his  proud  altar  rear ; 

Alone,  within  this  breezy  wood, 
Where  the  Almighty  doth  appear, 

1  '11  pay  my  heart's  deep  homage  here  ! 


THE   BELLS    OF   VEVAY. 

HE  music  of  thy  deep-toned  bells, 
Fair  Vevay,  in  my  memory  dwells ; 
Cathedral-like,  when  morning  breaks 

In  beauty  o'er  thy  crystal  lake.; ; 

Yet,  liquid  as  a  poet's  rhymes, 

The  cadence  of  thy  vesper  chimes, 

When  sunset  throws  its  crimson  glow 

On  Dent-du-Midi's  brow  of  snow, 

When  all  released  from  toil  and  care. 

They  call  the  worshipper  to  prayer. 

In  old  St.  Martin's  hallowed  groves, 
In  fancy  oft  my  spirit  roves ; 
I  pause  beneath  the  chestnut  trees, 
And  greet  the  cool,  delicious  breeze ; 
I  gaze,  till  all  my  being  thrills. 
Upon  the  grand  Savoyan  hills  ; 
And  glimpses  catch  where  Leman  lies, 
Serene  beneath  the  summer  skies  — 

When,  lo  !  from  out  the  old  church-tower, 
The  bells  proclaim  the  noon  tide  hour; 
44 


THE   DELLS   OF   VEVAY.  45 

To  all  the  echoing  heights  around 
Goes  up  the  ever-gladsome  sound  ; 
The  peasant,  pausing  'mid  his  vines, 
A  while  in  weleome  rest  reclines, 
And  bird  and  bee,  in  bush  and  brake, 
Seem  to  their  hour  of  rest  to  take. 

()  Vevay  bells  !   In  joy  and  woe, 
Thy  message  comes  to  high  and  low ; 
Thou  hast  a  blessing  for  the  bride 
When  standing  by  her  lover's  side  ; 
A  paean  for  the  true  and  brave ; 
A  wail  of  sorrow  for  the  grave  ; 
A  balm  to  soothe  the  troubled  breast 
When  whispering  to  the  weary  rest ; 
For  all,  where  joy  or  sorrow  dwells, 
Thou  hast  a  message,  Vevay  bells  ! 


THE   ROSE. 

HEX  Adam  first  in  Eden  trod, 

Fresh  from  the  forming  hand  of  God, 
A  rose,  in  vernal  beauty  drest, 

Blushed  sweetly  on  the  earth's  green  breast ; 

Whilst  Adam,  filled  with  strange  delight, 

In  wonder  gazed  upon  the  sight. 

When  lo  !  a  form  of  virgin  grace 
Sprang  forth  to  meet  his  warm  embrace  ; 
He  plucked  the  rose  so  wond'rous  fair, 
And  twined  it  in  her  golden  hair, 
Then  stood  enraptured  by  her  side, 
His  blooming  rose,  and  blushing  bride. 

With  loving  hands  we  still  entwine, 

The  rose  round  woman's  brow  divine  ; 

An  emblem  of  that  guileless  hour 

Ere  sin  had  touched  with  blight  the  flower,  — 

An  emblem,  eloquent  and  pure, 

Which  shall  the  wrecks  of  Time  endure. 


SUNSET  ON  LAKE  WINNIPESAUKEE. 

ERE,   when    the    long    midsummer    day 

declines, 

And    low    winds    murmur    through    the 
murmuring  pines, 

At  that  calm  hour  before  may  fall  the  dew, 
When  thought  is  busy  and  our  words  are  few, 
\Ve  climb  the  hills  to  see  the  setting  sun 
Proclaim  afar  another  day  is  done. 

Before  us  fair  Winnipesaukee  lies, 

Reflecting  IJelknap  towering  in  the  skies  ; 

Whilst  Ossipee,  twin  brother  of  Red  Hill, 

The  northern  outlines  of  our  vision  fill  : 

Still  nearer  where  the  waning  sun  goes  down, 

The  Domes  of  Sandwich  all  the  landscape  crown  • 

And  Moosilauk,  the  titan  of  the  van, 

A  good-night's  blessing  sends  to  Cardigan. 

High  above  all  with  wonder  we  behold 
The  sunset  clouds  their  rainbow  tints  unfold  ; 
Dissolving  views,  all  blending  into  light, 
A  crown  of  glory  on  the  brow  of  night ; 
47 


48  MISCELLANEOUS. 

The  closing  day  another  cycle  fills, 

As  evening  shadows  glide  among  the  hills. 

Adown  the  lanes,  still  browsing,  slowly  go 
The  cows  returning  to  the  barns  below, 
Leaving  perchance  one  wanderer  in  the  field, 
While  they  the  nectar  of  the  clover  yield. 
The  cow-bell  will  her  whereabouts  disclose, 
As  after  her  th'  impatient  urchin  goes  ; 
Through  bush  and  brake  with  temper  unrestrained, 
He    drives    her    homeward ;    and,    the    barnyard 

gained, 

He  eats  his  supper  with  unquestioned  zest, 
Then  falls  away  to  boyhood's  dreamless  rest. 

As  shadows  deepen,  with  his  head  erect, 
Lingers  awhile  brave  robin-red-breast  yet ; 
The  first  to  break  the  silence  of  the  dawn, 
And  hail  the  coming  of  the  rosy  morn, 
He  well  may  be  the  last  to  say  "  Good-night," 
With  heart  as  cheery  as  his  song  is  bright. 

Good-night,  good-night  !     O  sufferer  in  the  town. 
I  would  the  hills  might  send  their  blessing  down  ; 
That  the  pure  tonic  of  this  mountain  air, 
Might  healing  mingle  with  thy  evening  prayer  : 
Cheer  up,  poor  heart  !  whilst  stars  their  vigils  keep, 
God  ever  giveth  his  beloved  sleep. 


THE    MARRIAGE   UPON   Till-: 
SIDEWALK. 


An  incident  of  Boston  in  the  olden  time. 


iHK  wind  had  changed  ;  on  "Beacon  Hill 


The  crescent  moon  was  shinin 


JrJ      The  clock  tolled  out  the  hour  of  ten, 
Just  as  the  parson  breathed  "  Amen," 
And  with  his  hands  crossed  on  his  breast, 
\Velcomed  another  night  of  rest. 
4  49 


50  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Soon  underneath  his  window  stood, 
A  gentle  form  of  maidenhood. 
Leaning  upon  his  arm  whose  vow 
Of  love  should  be  recorded  now. 

A  rousing  rap  the  parson  woke, 

And  thus  he  from  the  window  spoke  : 

"Who  may  you  be,  and  why  this  call?  " 

"  Doctor,  the  rain  has  ceased  to  fall, 

The  wind  has  changed,  the  moon  shines  bright, 

I  must  be  off  to  sea  to-night ; 

Now  let  the  deed  be  quickly  done 

Which  shall  proclaim  that  we  are  one." 

The  Doctor  knew  the  captain's  voice, 

He  knew  the  maiden  of  his  choice, 

Three  times  their  banns  were  published  well ; 

And  as  his  words  upon  him  fell, 

He  answered  with  his  usual  grace, 

"Stand  where  you  are,  't  is  just  the  place; 

Now  join  together  your  right  hands, 

And  you  may  start  for  foreign  lands." 

Then  calmly  on  the  midnight  air, 
He  breathed  for  them  a  fervent  prayer, 
That  God  would  their  protector  be 
Whilst  they  were  voyaging  o'er  the  sea, 


MARRIAGE    UTOX   TIIK   SIDEWALK.        51 

And  bless,  through  all  their  coming  life, 
The  twain  who  now  were  man  and  wife. 

This  done  he  to  his  blankets  crept, 
And  as  a  worthy  parson  slept ; 
Whilst,  standing  in  his  manhood's  pride, 
The  captain  kissed  his  blushing  bride  ; 
And  ere  the  morn  broke  o'er  the  bay, 
His  barque  sped  like  a  bird  away. 

A  sweeter  woman  never  graced 
The  path  it  o'er  the  ocean  traced  ; 
And  whether  winds  blew  high  or  low, 
A  gentle  form  passed  to  and  fro, 
A  loving  presence  Heaven  had  sent, 
To  bless  the  ship  where'er  it  went. 

The  voyage  all  o'er,  how  proudly  now 

The  good  ship  tosses  from  her  prow 

The  waters  of  their  native  bay  ! 

Still  beautiful  before  them  lay 

The  port  for  which  the  spreading  sail 

Had  wooed  full  long  the  passing  gale  ; 

Far  they  had  wandered  o'er  the  sea, — 

Where  two  went  out,  there  came  back  three ; 

And  as  the  captain  looked  with  joy 

Upon  the  face  of  his  bright  boy, 


52  MISCELLANEOUS. 

He  thought  of  something  left  undone, 
When  he  and  Mary  were  made  one, 
And  quickly  to  the  Doctor  sped, 
And  standing  with  uncovered  head, 
Placed  in  his  hands  a  marriage  fee, 
Due  from  that  hour  he  went  to  sea  — 
How  large  a  sailor's  heart  can  be  ! 
That  time,  when  on  the  midnight  air, 
He  breathed  for  them  a  fervent  prayer, 
When  God  gave  him  so  good  a  wife, 
To  gladden  all  his  coming  life. 

The  moral  to  my  tale  is  this,  — 
To  hearts  pledged  for  connubial  bliss  : 
Start  when  the  wind  blows  fair,  nor  wait 
For  morn  to  break  before  thy  gate  : 
Life  is  a  voyage,  so  spread  thy  sail 
At  once  to  catch  the  fav'ring  gale  ; 
From  street  or  church,  from  hut  or  hall, 
Respond  to  Cupid's  magic  call ; 
And  howsoe'er  thy  lot  may  be, 
Don't  fail  to  pay  the  marriage  fee. 


THE  SONG   AND  THE  SINGER. 


N  a  quiet  retreat  near  by  the  sea, 
In  a  dwelling  humble  and  low, 
A  little  girl  stood  by  her  mother's  knee 


And  sweetly  repeated  a  song  for  me, 
As  rivulets  sparkle  and  flow. 

There  was  much  to  love  in  this  little  maid  — 

Her  heart  was  brimful  of  glee  ; 
A  delicate  blush  o'er  her  fair  face  strayed, 
And  sweet  was  the  music  her  red  lips  made, 

As  she  sang  this  song  for  me. 

I  cannot  tell  you  the  words  of  the  song 

She  sang  with  her  heart  all  aglow ; 
They  were  something  about  the  shining  throng, 
\Vho  wander  the  beautiful  vales  along, 
And  th'  bliss  of  Paradise  know. 

I  thought  as  I  listened  unto  her  lay 

Such  spirits  to  us  are  given, 
To  lure  our  feet  whenever  we  stray, 
I>ack  into  the  straight  and  narrow  way, 

The  way  that  leadeth  to  H>iven. 
53 


54  MISCELLANEOUS. 

A  year  passed  on  and  I  stood  again 
In  that  dwelling  humble  and  low ; 

T  was  a  July  day,  and  the  sturdy  swain 

Was  busy  cutting  the  ripened  grain, 
And  laying  it  row  on  row. 

The  crow  of  the  cock  and  hum  of  the  bee, 

And  bobolink's  magical  tune, 
And  the  distant  chimes  of  the  murm'ring  sea, 
Were  just  the  same  as  they  came  to  me, 

The  summer  before  in  June. 

But  that  mother  moved  with  a  chastened  air, 

And  reverently  bowed  her  head  ; 
On  her  face  were  traces  of  recent  care, 
For  a  harp  was  silent  which  warbled  there, 

And  the  light  of  her  home  had  fled. 

"And  where  is  the  child,"  I  asked  with  surprise, 
"  Whose  heart  was  brimful  of  glee?  " 

And  tenderly  uttered  were  her  replies  : 

"  My  darling  in  the  graveyard  lies, 
She  '11  never  come  back  to  me." 

Yet  not  a  murmur  escaped  her  lips,  — 

"  God  giveth  and  taketh  away  ; 
The  lamb  which  down  in  the  meadow  skips, 
The  bee  which  its  fill  of  nectar  sips, 

Have  promise  for  only  a  day. 


THE   SONG   AND    THE  SINGER.  55 

"  But  my  dear  one  iiveth  forever  more, 

My  tears  will  not  always  flow ; 
I  shall  meet  her  again  on  the  shining  shore  ; 
When  this  wearisome  journey  of  life  is  o'er, 

I  shall  see  her  there,  I  know." 

O  mother  bereaved  !   in  thy  faith  I  would   share, 

As  thy  day,  so  is  strength  to  thee  given ; 
The  dood  Shepherd  for  her  will  tenderly  care, 
Thou  wilt  see  thy  lost  darling  glorified  there, 
For  of  such  is  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven. 


THE   BOY   BATHERS. 


In  the  summer  of  1865  a  number  of  boys,  for  the  violation  of 
an  ordinance  of  the  city  of  Boston  prohibiting  out-of-door  bathing 
within  its  limits,  were  arrested  and  fined  each  two  dollars.  Being 
unable  to  pay  the  fine,  they  were  imprisoned  over  night,  when 
friends  came  to  their  relief  and  they  were  released.  The  event 
evoked  sharp  comment  from  the  press,  which  led  to  the  present 
system  of  free  bathing-houses  now  so  great  a  blessing,  especially 
to  the  destitute  classes. 


WELVE  boys,  one  sultry  summer  day, 
Had  fun  and  frolic  with  the  spray 
Out  in  the  waters  of  South  Bay, 


Upon  our  southern  margin,  where 
The  people  breathe  a  purer  air 
Than  the  hot  city  has  to  spare. 

The  small  waves  played  a  merry  chime, 
While  the  boys  had  a  jolly  time, 
And  knew  not  that  it  was  a  crime. 

And  handsome  brows  which  bore  a  stain 
Grew  fairer  in  the  briny  main, 
And  they  all  came  out  clean  again. 
56 


THE  BOY  BATHERS.  57 

That  night  those  boys  in  prison  lay 
For  this  glad  frolic  with  the  spray 
Upon  this  sultry  summer  day. 

And  the  grim  law  imposed  a  fine 
On  those  who  made  their  faces  shine 
l!y  plunging  in  the  cleansing  brine  ! 

Oh,  tell  it  not,  my  friends,  in  Gath, 
That  here  poor  boys  can't  take  a  bath, 
Ikit  they  incur  the  law's  stern  wrath  ; 

That  the  great  sea  which  laves  our  shores, 
And  health  through  every  artery  pours, 
Keeping  the  plague-spot  from  our  doors, 

May  not  its  healing  powers  dispense 

For  him  who  has  less  pounds  than  pence, 

Lest  thereby  some  should  take  offence. 

Proud  domes  and  palaces  arise, 
And  towering  spires  salute  the  skies, 
Filling  the  great  world  with  surprise; 

"But  nowhere  has  sweet  Charity 
Reared  a  fair  temple  by  the  sea, 
Inscribing  on  its  portals,  FREE, 


5  8  MISCELLANEOUS. 

For  all  who  will  to  come  and  go, 

And  here  the  pure  waves  welcome,  ho  ! 

The  luxury  of  bliss  below. 

O  brothers,  freely  God  hath  given 
Pure  water  and  the  air  of  heaven, 
To  flow  and  blow  from  morn  till  even. 

His  hand,  alike  for  great  and  small, 

In  ocean  and  the  waterfall, 

Hath  stores  enough  for  each  and  all ; 

And  let  not  metes  nor  bounds  restrain 
These  blessings  from  the  needy  train 
Who  little  have  of  this  world's  gain. 

And  let  no  act  of  ours  oppress 

The  outcast  and  the  fatherless,  — 

Those  little  ones  whom  Christ  would  bless  ; 

But  choose  we,  rather,  day  by  day, 
Some  load  to  lighten  by  the  way, 
Some  heart  to  gladden  while  we  may. 

SEPTEMBER  i,  1865. 


THE    EAST   WIND. 

jjiHE   east  wind   is  coming,  all  moist  with 

the  spray, 
ile^iS      And  the  odor  of  brine  from  the  billows 

at  play  ; 
The   hot   day  is   ending,  and    this   puff  from  the 

sea 
Is  like  a  fond  kiss  of  my  mother  for  me  ; 

0  day  of  midsummer  !   how  gratefully  now 

This  breeze  from  the  ocean  steals  over  my  brow  ! 

1  remember  that  only  two  brief  moons  ago, 

The  east  wind  seemed  coming  from  icebergs  and 

snow, 

So  chill  was  its  breath,  and  so  frigid  its  mien, 
While  May  flaunted  gayly  her  banners  of  green. 
lUit  lo  !   with  the  smile  of  our  beautiful   June, 
Came    its  wooing    embrace   with    the    bobolink's 

tune  ; 

A  herald  of  gladness  passing  graciously  by, 
To  temper  the  heat  of  our  fervid  July. 
59 


6O  MISCELLANEOUS. 

O  much  abused  east  wind  !     I  will  not  again, 
Methinks,  of  thy  coming  or  presence  complain  ; 
For  lingering  yet  as  a  boon  from  the  skies, 
Thou  'rt  blessing  the  couch  where  a  sufferer  lies 
Giving  strength  to  endure,  and  courage  to  bear, 
His  burden  of  pain,  uncomplainingly,  there  ; 
A  respite  from  anguish,  whilst  soothingly  now 
Thy  breath  from  the  ocean  is  fanning  his  brow. 


APRIL. 

THE  crocus  rears  its  purple  crest, 
Beside  the  wasting  banks  of  snow ; 

Whilst  merrily  the  wayside  rills 

Unfettered  through  the  meadows  flow. 

Come  forth  with  me  !  the  winsome  smile 

Of  this  capricious  April  day 
Will  wake  to  fairy  life  the  buds, 

To  blossom  on  the  brow  of  May. 


THE    HUNGRY   STUDENTS. 


The  following  incident  occurred  when  Boston  was  a  small  city, 
and  there  was  no  communication  between  it  and  its  suburbs,  ex 
cept  by  omnibus  or  stage  once  or  twice  a  day. 

Lunch  or  eating  houses  were  unknown  ;  and  delegates  to  re 
ligious  gatherings  were  entertained  at  private  residences,  to  which 
on  this  occasion  the  parties  here  introduced  were  unintentionally 
not  invited. 

EAR  where  the  shaft  on  Hunker  Hill 
Points  upward  to  the  sky, 
The  hosts  of  Zion  gathered  once. 
To  praise  the  Lord  most  High. 

They  came  from  hall  and  hamlet  round, 

And  cast  their  off  rings  down, 
And  hallowed  was  the  scene  that  day, 

In  that  historic  town. 

Two  manly  men.  young  Levites  they, 

From  Newton  joined  the  throng, 
And  bowed  with  older  prophets  there. 

In  prayer  and  sacred  song. 
6 1 


6  2  MISCELLANE  O  US. 

But  little  to  sustain  the  flesh 
They  'd  eaten  through  the  day, 

When  with  the  setting  of  the  sun 
They  homeward  took  their  way. 

From  many  unassuming  homes 
The  evening  fire-lights  gleamed, 

And  happy  groups  round  supper-boards, 
To  them  in  Eden  seemed. 

And  musing  as  they  passed  along 
Where  Harvard's  shadows  fell, 

They  fancied  that  her  many  sons 
Could  some  good  stories  tell,  — 

Of  hungry  students  feasting  long 
O'er  well-picked  chicken-bones, 

While  humor  made  the  old  halls  ring, 
In  no  unmeasured  tones. 

There  little  was  in  this  long  walk 

Their  spirits  to  beguile, 
With  hunger  gnawing  at  their  breasts, 

And  every  rod  a  mile. 

Yet  on  they  went  till  all  the  stars 

Of  night  began  to  shine, 
And  Watertown  at  last  was  reached, 

As  bells  rang  out  for  nine. 


THE    HUNGRY  STUDENTS.  63 

Then  with  unbounded  joy  they  hailed 

The  ever-open  door 
Of  1  )eacon  Coolidge,  who  had  been 

Their  steadfast  friend  before. 

The  Deacon  heard  the  pleasant  talc 

Of  all  they  saw  that  day, 
How  blessings  fell  upon  the  men 

Who  met  to  praise  and  pray  : 

Presuming  that  their  mortal  part 

I  lad  been  as  richly  fed, 
He  took  a  candle  quietly, 

And  led  them  off  to  bed. 

Too  modest  they  to  give  a  hint, 

Though  sore  by  hunger  prest, 
And  supperless,  these  stalwart  men 

Lay  down  that  night  to  rest. 


Hut  ere  that  sleep,  dear  balmy  sleep, 

Shut  out  from  human  ken 
All  knowledge  of  themselves,  they  thought 

Of  other  hungrv  men  — 


64  MISCELLANEOUS. 

How  it  were  well  the  flesh  at  times 

To  crucify  and  slay, 
That  saints  and  sages  fasted  long 

When  they  retired  to  pray  ; 

And  though  the  cup  were  bitter,  still 
It  would  be  for  the  best ; 

It  were  enough  the  Master  gave 
To  His  beloved  rest. 

Then  praying  that  the  Lord  till  morn 
Would  them  in  safety  keep, 

These  famished  students  gradually 
Fell  off  in  troubled  sleep. 


Not  long  had  they  been  slumbering, 
\Vhen  dreams  stole  o'er  the  brain 

Of  Brother  Neale,  and  lo  !  he  dreamed 
That  he  was  once  again 

Beside  a  table  spread  with  all 

A  hungry  man  could  eat ; 
And  blessing  he  was  asked  to  crave. 

Upon  the  bread  and  meat. 


THE   HUNGK  Y  STL rDEA VIS'. 

So  dreaming  on,  with  hands  upraised, 

Unconsciously  he  said, 
"  Dear  Father,  bless  this  bounty  now 

Before  Thy  servants  spread." 

His  voice  awoke  his  Brother  Swaim, 

Who,  starting  as  if  hit, 
Sprang  up  exclaiming,  "  Brother  Neale, 

(Jood  gracious  !  where  is  it?" 

Alas,  alas  !   't  was  all  a  dream, 

No  feast  before  them  lay ; 
And  wearily  dragged  on  the  hours 

Until  the  break  of  day. 

And  not  before  the  tardy  sun 

Had  risen  o'er  the  hill, 
Did  they  at  the  good  Deacon's  board, 

Their  hungry  stomachs  fill. 

Then  Xewton,  school  for  prophets  still, 
They  reached  with  easy  pace, 

Where  students  still  have  appetites, 
In  keeping  with  the  place. 


66  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Thenceforward  as  Time  rolled  along, 
And  visions  came  and  went, 

These  prophets  of  the  Lord  recalled 
That  night  of  hunger  spent ; 

And  thought  it  was  like  much  they  oft 
Had  seen  along  their  way  ; 

How  life  had  passed  just  like  a  dream, 
While  they  were  growing  gray ; 

That  often,  when  the  day  was  dark, 
And  they  had  prayed  for  bread, 

The  light  appeared,  and  Heavenly  Love 
A  feast  before  them  spread. 


SUNSET    ON    LAKE    LEMAN. 


EMAN  !  famed  in  song  and  story, 
Let  me  float  upon  thy  breast, 
Like  a  bird  with  folded  pinions, 
At  this  sunset  hour  of  rest ; 
And  between  the  lapsing  pauses 

Of  the  half-suspended  oar, 
Let  me  listen  to  the  music 

Wafted  from  the  vine-clad  shore  : 
67 


68  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Softer  still,  O  sturdy  boatman  ! 

Lighter  dip  the  yielding  oar  ; 
While  I  listen,  listen,  listen, 

To  the  music  from  the  shore  ! 

Through  the  purple  mists  of  evening, 

Grandly  rise  the  mighty  hills, 
From  whose  hidden  depths  and  fountai; 

Freely  gush  the  crystal  rills  ; 
Even  now  I  fancy,  mingling 

With  the  music  from  the  shore, 
I  can  hear  the  laughing  waters 
When  the  boatman  rests  his  oar  : 
Softer  still,  O  sturdy  boatman  ! 
Lighter  dip  the  yielding  oar  : 
While  I  listen,  listen,  listen, 
To  the  music  from  the  shore  ! 

All  too  brief,  O  shrine  of  beauty  ! 

Are  these  golden  hours  for  me ; 
All  too  soon  will  leagues  of  distance 

Stretch  between  my  home  and  thee  : 
Yet  my  spirit  here  will  linger, 

And  my  little  boat  will  glide, 
Often  at  the  hour  of  sunset, 

O'er  thy  blue  unruffled  tide  : 


SUNSET  ON  LAKE   LEMAN. 

Softer  still,  O  sturdy  boatman  ! 

Lighter  dip  the  yielding  oar, 
While  I  listen,  listen,  listen, 

To  the  music  from  the  shore  ! 

VEVAY,  SWITZERLAND. 


69 


MORNING   IN  THE  ISLE  OF  WIGHT. 

fair,  dear  Annie,  is  the  smile 
Of  morning,  on  this  sea-girt  isle  ! 
Come,   leave  thy  books  and  cares  to 
day, 

And  hie  thee  to  the  downs  away,  — 

The  breezy  downs,  where,  in  the  dells, 

The  heather  swings  its  purple  bells  ; 

The  gray  old  downs,  which  rise  and  irown, 

Like  sentinels  above  the  town; 

These  be  our  chosen  haunts  to-day, 

As  pass  the  summer  hours  away. 

How  grandly  o'er  the  curling  tide 
The  ships  of  every  nation  glide  ! 
Through  England's  mighty  channel  bent, 
With  cargoes  from  the  Continent ; 
With  wealth  from  India  and  Peru, 
Stores  of  the  old  world  and  the  new  ; 
Their  white  wings  coying  with  the  breeze,  — 
Were  ever  fairer  seas  than  these? 
70 


MORNING   IN   THE   ISLE    OF   WIGHT. 

Did  ever  skies  of  deeper  blue 
Exhale  the  drops  of  crystal  dew? 
Did  ever  skylark  sweeter  sing, 
Borne  upward  on  exultant  wing? 
Say,  Annie,  in  the  wide  world  round, 
Where  can  you  find  more  fair)'  ground,  — • 
Where  morning's  dawn  and  evening's  close 
Bring  to  the  weary  more  repose? 
What  spot  on  all  the  earth  more  bright 
Than  England's  famous  Isle  of  Wight? 

VENTOR,  ISLE  OF  WIGHT. 


THE   BROOK   OF   MY  BOYHOOD 

HERE  is  a  brook,  a  merry  brook, 

Whose  waters  glide  away, 
And  creep  into  each  tiny  nook. 
Like  a  little  child  at  play. 

It  runneth  by  my  grandsire's  door 

The  same  as  when  a  child 
'Twas  my  delight  to  hear  it  pour, 

Its  music  on  the  wild. 

The  passing  stranger  may  not  heed 

This  modest  little  rill, 
Which  wanders  through  the  verdant  mead 

Its  pleasant  journey  still : 

But  unto  me,  O  stream  !  a  voice 

Hast  thou  of  bygone  years  ; 
I  cannot  see  thee  but  rejoice, 

I  cannot  but  with  tears. 

72 


THE   BROOK  OF  MY  BOYHOOD.  73 

'T  is  not  because  the  hills  and  vales 
Through  which  thy  pathway  lies 

Are  fairer  than  the  hills  and  dales 
Beneath  a  thousand  skies,— 

Nor  yet  because  thy  waters  leap, 

So  joyously  and  free  ; 
No,  not  alone  for  these  I  keep 

This  early  love  for  thee. 

"T  is  for  the  past  that  them  canst  stir 

Fond  memories  at  thy  will, 
For  halcyon  days  that  I  prefer 

Thy  sparkling  waters  still. 

Still  mirrored  on  thy  breast  I  trace 

Bright  visions  flitting  by; 
I  see  a  boy  with  sun-browned  face, 

And  laughter  in  his  eye, 

Who  cares  not,  in  his  fair  young  prime, 

With  spirits  all  aglow, 
That  there  may  be  a  coming  time, 

When  tears,  alas  !  will  flow. 

Oh  memory  !  priceless  boon  to  all  ! 

When  of  thee  we  're  denied, 
How  hard  the  struggle  to  recall, 

Who  lived,  who  loved,  who  died. 


74  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Then  thanks  to  thee,  thou  little  stream, 
For  the  record  thou  dost  bear 

Of  scenes  which  linger  like  a  dream 
In  my  remembrance  there. 

A  toiler  from  a  world  of  strife, 

I  fondly  turn  to  thee  ; 
Full  soon  must  end  this  checkered  life, 

Bear  record  then  of  me. 


AMONG   THE   HILLS. 

Morn  the  gates  of  Day  unlocks, 
hear  the  crowing  of  the  cocks  ; 

r;I(rf)l 

Efl     And  from  the  maple  groves  below, 
The  cawing  of  the  hungry  crow  ; 
And  later,  from  the  clover  dells, 
The  tinkling  of  the  cattle  bells  ; 
And  later  still,  the  hum  of  bees  ; 
And  whisp'rings  in  the  forest  trees ; 
With  now  and  then  from  field  and  fold, 
Glad  voices  as  the  day  grows  old. 

Among  the  hills  !  away  from  care, 
The  tonic  of  this  mountain  air 
Comes  as  a  benediction  now; 

0  restless  heart  and  throbbing  brow  ! 
How  kindly  Nature  sheds  her  balm. 
Amid  this  universal  calm  ! 

1  low  soothingly,  upon  her  breast, 
She  gives  her  weary  children  rest ! 

75 


LAURA   MAY. 

ESIDE  a  pleasant  waterfall, 
In  an  unfrequented  way, 
A  merry  little  maiden  lives, 
Whose  name  is  Laura  May. 
Her  father  is  a  farmer, 

And  toils  hard  and  long, 
But  ever  with  a  happy  heart 
And  a  bosom  light  with  song. 

But  little  of  this  busy  world 

This  fairy  child  hath  seen  ; 
Her  playmates  in  the  village  live, 

Her  sports  are  on  the  green  ; 
And  fragrant  as  the  wild  flowers 

That  bloom  along  the  way, 
Are  the  unobtrusive  virtues 

Of  little  Laura  May. 

When  first  I  saw  her  sitting 

Beside  her  father's  door, 
I  thought  so  much  of  innocence 

I  had  not  seen  before  ; 
76 


LAURA    MAY.  77 

Upon  her  neck  of  snowy  white 

Her  auburn  tresses  lay  — 
Oh  very  fair  and  beautiful, 

Is  little  Laura  May  ! 

And  thus  in  quiet  places 

By  waterfall  and  glen, 
In  paths  but  seldom  trodden 

By  the  restless  feet  of  men, 
The  fairest  flowers  blossom, 

The  coolest  fountains  play, 
And  all  unseen,  unnoticed,  lives 

Some  charming  Laura  May. 

Go  them  whose  heart  is  weary 

With  the  burdens  and  the  strife, 
With  the  longings  and  the  cravings. 

The  jealousies  of  life  — 
Go  take  thy  staff  and  travel 

Upon  the  world's  highway, 
And  thou  shall  find  in  many  a  cot. 

The  soul  of  Laura  May  ! 


TO   THE   FIRST   ROBIN. 


WELCOME  warm  awaits  thee, 
Bright  herald  of  the  spring  ; 
Thy  voice  of  winning  sweetness 


Has  still  its  merry  ring. 
The  winter  days  are  over, 
And  buttercups  and  clover 
Will  gladden  all  the  way 
In  which  thy  feet  may  stray, 

Whilst  thou  singest,  singest 
Thy  old  familiar  song, 
As  the  seasons  roll  along, 
Robin,  Robin  ! 

Thou  hast  tarried  long  and  late, 
A  questioner  of  fate, 
Feeling  cautiously  thy  way, 
In  thy  coming  day  by  day. 
Now  take  a  crumb  or  two, 
And  cheer  thee  up  anew ; 
The  pastures,  bleak  and  sere, 
In  beauty  will  appear  ; 


TO    THE   FIRST  RODIN.  79 

And  the  roaring  northern  blast, 
Be  a  memory  of  the  past, 

Whilst  thou  singest,  singest 
Thy  old  familiar  song, 
As  the  seasons  roll  along, 
Robin,  Robin  ! 

Oh,  thou  'It  be  surpassing  sweet) 
With  thy  nimble  little  feet 
Tripping  lightly  o'er  the  lawn 
At  the  breaking  of  the  dawn, 

And  "Good-morning,  summer  's  coming." 
Not  a  harbinger  of  spring, 
However  sweetly  he  may  sing, 

Can  sing  as  thou  singest,  singest 
Thy  old  familiar  song, 
As  the  seasons  roll  along, 
Robin,  Robin  ! 


THE   LESSON  OF  THE   MORNING. 


t    hand  is  on  my  garden  gate, 

The  dew-drops  tremble  on  the  thorn, 
The  forest  birds  are  all  elate, 
And  carol  to  the  rosy  morn  ; 
Ho  !  forest  bird  and  rising  sun  ! 

As  roll  the  mists  of  night  away, 
For  me,  who  long  the  race  hath  run, 

What  message  have  you  brought  to-day? 

I  slept,  for  darkness  deepened  round  ; 

I  woke,  for  light  illum'd  my  room  ; 
And  silence,  which  had  reigned  profound, 

Passed  with  the  darkness  and  the  gloom. 
The  miracle  of  life  again 

My  op'ning  eyes  with  joy  behold, 
As  voices  now  of  earnest  men 

Are  coming  up  from  field  and  fold. 
Ho  !  forest  bird  and  rising  sun  ! 

What  message  have  you  brought  for  me  ? 
I,  who  so  long  the  race  hath  run, 

Would  fain  the  goal  before  me  see. 
So 


THE  LESSON  OF  THE  MORNING.        8 1 
ANSWER. 

"  There  comes  a  night,  how  dark  and  long 

Is  not  revealed  to  mortal  men  ; 
Yet  pilgrim,  let  thy  heart  be  strong, 

The  day  will  follow  night  again. 
So  take  thy  staff  and  travel  on, 

Through  what  of  joy  or  woe  betide ; 
Thou  wilt  a  priceless  boon  have  won, 

Jf  FAITH  go  with  thee  side  by  side." 


THE    POET'S   CORNER. 


N  an  old-fashioned  building, 

On  a  very  busy  street, 
A  poet l  hale  and  hearty 
Has  a  coveted  retreat, 
Where  behind  a  green  baize  curtain 

He  finds  relief  from  care, 
And  has  for  many  callers 
A  cordial  welcome  there. 

1  James  T.  Fields.     His  business  life  was  passed  in  the 
Old  Corner  Bookstore,  and  his  "  coveted  retreat"  was  on 
the  School  Street  side  of  the  building. 
82 


THE   POETS   COKXKK.  83 

Around  this  corner  gather 

The  toilers  of  the  pen. — 
The  foremost  and  the  bravest 

Of  our  wise  and  witty  men  ; 
For  much  they  love  the  poet, 

And  they  like  his  cosy  seat  ; 
'T  is  a  fountain  in  the  desert, 

U'here  congenial  spirits  meet. 

I  sometimes  draw  the  curtain, 

15ut  step  at  once  aside. 
For  Kmerson  and  Longfellow 

The  morning  hour  divide  ; 
Or  Whittier,  the  beloved, 

As  brave  as  he  is  true. 
With  Lowell,  Holmes,  and  Hawthorne 

Old  fellowships  renew. 

Then  with  books  and  friends  I  linger, 

And  loiter  till  my  turn, 
And  fumble  over  volumes 

That  with  words  of  beauty  burn, 
Till  these  master-minds  have  entered, 

And  passed  along  their  way, 
When  we  have  a  talk  together, 

In  the  quiet  of  the  day. 


84  MISCELLANEOUS. 

I  think  that  time  is  dealing 

Very  gently  with  my  friend  ; 
Not  a  wrinkle  with  the  crimson 

Has  yet  begun  to  blend  ; 
Not  a  gray  lock  with  the  auburn 

Upon  his  forehead  plays, 
And  his  step  is  still  as  certain 

As  in  our  younger  days. 

Heaven  save  that  ancient  building 

From  the  innovator's  hand  ! 
As  a  landmark  of  our  fathers 

Let  this  corner  bookstore  stand  : 
For  cherished  memories  lure  us 

As  we  wander  down  the  street, 
To  the  poet  in  his  corner, 

To  this  scholar's  calm  retreat. 


TO   J.  T.  F. 

ACCEPT,  I  pray,  this  wayside  flower, 
It  blossomed  by  a  mountain  rill ; 
I  plucked  it  at  that  early  hour 
When  birds  the  brakes  with  music  fill. 

I  thought  it  only  bloomed  for  me  ; 

It  answered,  "  Nay,  for  thee,  for  thee ;  " 
And  so  I  Ye  brought  it  all  the  way, 

To  cheer  thy  heart,  friend  Fields,  to-day. 


A   SABBATH   IN   THE   ISLE   OF 
WIGHT. 

To  MRS.  A.  M. 

EAR  friend,  and  will  it  be  so  soon 
As  after  one  more  summer  moon,  . 
Your  busy  feet  will  roam  no  more, 

The  hills  and  vales  of  England  o'er  ? 

That  scenes  which  charm  the  eye  and  ear, 

Will  fade  away  and  disappear, 

And  many  leagues  of  raging  sea, 

Will  roll  between  these  shores  and  thee  ? 

Well,  distance  never  may  efface 
The  memories  of  the  paths  we  trace  ; 
And  often  in  your  northern  home, 
When  the  November  days  shall  come,  — 
When  seated  at  your  open  fire, 
As  the  last  beams  of  day  retire,  — 
You  will  recall  this  Sabbath  bright, 
You  spent  upon  the  Isle  of  Wight,  — 
86 


SABBATH  IN   THE   ISLE    OF    WIGHT.        87 

This  day  of  more  than  regal  bloom, 
Unsullied  by  a  tinge  of  gloom  ; 
Pure  type,  to  weary  mortals  given, 
Of  the  sabbatic  rest  of  heaven. 


Yes,  these  fair  fields,  this  sky  so  blue, 
These  wayside  flowers  of  every  hue. 
This  mighty  sweep  of  sea  and  shore, 
The  cliffs  the  breakers  thunder  o'er  — 
Yon  dear  Eon  Church,  close  nestled  there, 
'Mid  ivy  bowers,  sweet  place  for  prayer  — 


The  dead  who  in  its  shadows  sleep, 
Lulled  by  the  voices  of  the  deep,  — 
These,  at  your  call  will  come  and  go, 
When  at  your  casement  beats  the  snow. 


88  MISCELLANEOUS. 

And  loved  ones  oft  will  listen  well, 
To  the  fine  story  you  can  tell, 
How,  when  your  locks  were  turning  gray, 
You  travelled  far  from  home  away, 
And  lingered  long  by  castle  walls, 
And  music  heard  in  waterfalls, 
And  realized  in  mount  and  streams, 
The  visions  of  your  early  dreams. 

VENTOR,  August,  1877. 


CLERICAL   VESTMENTS. 


An  incident  in  the  lives  of  Drs.  Thomas  Baldwin  and  Daniel 
Sharp,  clergymen,  eminent  in  Boston  between  the  years  1790 
and  1853,  for  thirty-five,  and  forty-one  years  respectively. 

T  the  old  church  in  Baldwin  Place, 
Where  long  good-will  abounded, 
A  trifling  matter  one  fair  morn 


Was  seriously  propounded. 

Twas  when  before  its  altar  bowed 
That  man  whose  name  is  graven, 

On  many  hearts  as  he  who  lured 
The  weary  soul  to  heaven. 

He  moved  serene  in  gown  and  bands 
His  flock  the  shepherd  leading  ; 

And  tenderly  for  high  or  low, 
Alike  their  wishes  heeding. 

It  chanced  an  English  preacher  once  — 

A  youth  of  modest  bearing, 
A  Sabbath  passed  with  Dr.  B., 

His  pulpit  labor  sharing. 
89 


9O  MISCELLANEOUS. 

The  elder  in  the  morning  traced 

The  narrow  way  to  glory, 
The  young  man  in  the  afternoon, 

Repeated  Calvary's  story. 

Next  day  they  passed  a  quiet  hour 

In  social  conversation, 
And  talked  of  men  whose  lives  were  marked 

By  earnest  consecration,  — 

How  prophets  and  apostles  preached, 
How  eyes  with  rapture  glistened 

When  Jesus  spake  the  words  of  life, 
To  multitudes  who  listened. 

"  And  do  you  think  in  gown  and  bands 
The  preacher  then  appeared?  " 

Asked  Mr.  Sharp,  who  never  had 
The  gown  and  bands  revered. 

"  I  liked  your  sermon  very  much," 

Continued  Mr.  S. 
"  But  had  you  preached  without  that  robe, 

I  had  not  liked  it  less." 

"  I  'm  sorry  that  my  old  silk  gown," 

Retorted  Doctor  B., 
"Was  yesterday  a  stumbling-block, 

Between  my  Lord  and  thee  ; 


CLERICAL    VESTMENTS.  91 

"  But,  Brother  Sharp,  last  evening,  when 

The  Sabbath  feasts  were  ending, 
Old  Sister  Lee  came  up  beneath 

Her  fourscore  winters  bending, 

"And  in  her  simple  way  declared, 
How  much  she  liked  your  sermon, 

That  to  her  thirsty  soul  your  words, 
Were  as  the  dews  of  Hermon  : 

"  And  yet  she  said,  '  /  hate  a  fop? 

As  if  some  pain  beset  her, 
'  But  for  his  ruffled-bosom  shirt, 

I  should  have  liked  him  better.'  " 

The  young  man  smiled,  he  saw  the  point, 

Too  plain  for  doubt  or  guessing ; 
And  bowed  before  his  senior  there, 

And  knew  he  had  his  blessing. 

'T  was  just  before  he  passed  away, 

Ere  yet  was  loosed  the  cable, 
That  Doctor  Sharp  this  story  told, 

One  evening  at  my  table. 

As  mellow  as  an  autumn  sky, 

As  ripe  as  golden  grain, 
He  seemed  that  night  to  me  and  mine, 

As  he  rehearsed  again  — 


92  MISCELLANEOUS. 

That  record  of  a  nobler  life, 
Its  failures  and  successes, 

His  faith  in  that  sweet  charity 
Which  purifies  and  blesses  — 

Which  scorns  to  cross  and  criticise 
What  is  the  merest  trifle, 

Well  knowing  that  the  nobler  part, 
We  thereby  mar  and  stifle. 

And  so  I  muse  —  if  we  could  "  see 
Ourselves  as  others  see  us," 

The  beam  which  often  dims  our  eyes 
Would  not  so  oft  mislead  us. 


THE   SECRET. 

LITTLE  brook  went  singing  on 
Where  M.  and  I  were  straying 
It  held  a  secret  in  its  breast, 
Yet  evermore  was  saying, 
"  Some  day." 

The  days  sped  on,  and  still  the  brook, 
Through  all  our  smiles  and  sighing, 

The  secret  kept,  whilst  merrily 
The  selfsame  words  replying, 
"Some  day." 

Somehow  a  robin  chanced  to  guess 

The  secret  we  were  keeping, 
And  told  it  to  his  gentle  mate, 

The  very  words  repeating, 
"  Some  day." 

But  brook  and  bird,  whilst  seemingly 

Our  earnest  wishes  heeding, 
Could  not  refrain  from  whispering 
Each  rosy  morn  succeeding, 
"  Some  day." 
93 


94  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Dear  little  stream,  there  came  a  time 

Of  very  sweet  revealing, 
When  we  no  longer  wished  nor  cared 

For  any  more  concealing, 
One  day. 

We  rank  it  with  the  golden  hours 

Which  blessed  our  life's  young  morning ; 

And  see  fulfilled  at  eventide, 
The  promise  of  its  dawning, 
That  day  ! 


REMEMBERED    MUSIC. 

HE  preacher  had  his  sermon  preached, 
And  prayer  befitting  marked  its  close, 
When,  ling'ring  yet  where   prayer  was 

made, 

The  preacher  and  the  people  rose. 
The  choir  sang  sweetly  an  old  hymn, 

Which  most  before  had  never  known  ; 
But  there  were  some  whose  eyes  were  dim, 

To  whom  it  spake  of  years  long  flown, 
When  with  a  low  and  reverent  air, 

They  trod  the  hallowed  aisles  of  prayer. 

The  young  were  moved  and  wondered  why 

They  had  not  heard  those  strains  before ; 
The  old  man  wept  and  seemed  again 

To  live  his  very  childhood  o'er. 
As  quickly,  from  the  treasured  past, 

Came  visions  of  the  olden  time, 
When  his  dear  father  worshipped  God, 

Whilst  swaying  to  the  music's  chime, 
95 


96  MISCELLANEOUS. 

And  by  his  side  they  sat  who  shared 
The  sunshine  of  his  early  days ; 

What  other  could  he  do  than  weep, 

To  hear  once  more  these  good  old  lays  ? 

Oh,  art  may  charm,  and  newer  strains 

May  better  please  the  youthful  breast, 
But  unto  him  whose  locks  are  gray, 

The  oldest  music  is  the  best. 
And  so  I  felt,  as  died  away 

Those  strains  within  that  place  of  prayer, 
That  heaven  to  some  will  sweeter  be 

If  "  Dundee  "  is  remembered  there. 


TO  A  FOREST  BIRD  AT  SUNSET. 

T  is  night  on  the  mountains  —  yet,  beau 

tiful  bird, 
Thou    art    singing    a    song  which  the 

forest  has  stirred  ; 

The  mild  mellow  evening  bends  down  from  above, 
As  its  dim  aisles  re-echo  thy  ditties  of  love,  — 
Deliciously  sweet,  and  as  lute-like  ami  clear 
As  if  borne  to  the  earth  from  some  holier  sphere  ! 

I  listen  and  wait,  as  still  one  more  refrain 
Passes  by  on  the  breath  of  the  evening  again,— 
Now  rising,  now  falling,  now  dying  away, 
Like  the  chimes  of  the  ocean,  or  breezes  at  play  ; 
A  good-night  for  all,  ere  thou  fallest  asleep, 
And  stars  o'er  the  hamlets  their  lone  vigils  keep. 

I  have  left  the  thronged  marts  and  turmoil  of  men, 
For  the  quiet  which  reigns  in  this  wild-wood  and 

glen  ; 

And  I  fain  would  believe  thy  song  is  for  me, 
Thou  magical  ranger  o'er  forest  and  lea. 
The  scenes  of  this  twilight  may  vanish  away, 
But  never,  no,  never,  the  charm  of  thy  lay. 
7  97 


KANSAS. 

UNE  breathed  her  benedictions  when  I 

stood 
Where  thy  green  summits,    Lawrence, 

overlook 

City  and  hamlet,  vale  and  winding  stream, 
And  prairie  vast,  as  fair  and  beautiful, 
In  all  their  virgin  freshness,  as  a  bride 
Decked  for  her  nuptials.     It  was  even-tide. 
The  sun,  breaking  through  clouds  which  just  be 
fore 

Had  dropped  their  rain,  whilst   sharp  the  light 
nings  flashed 

And  the  dread  thunder  rolled,  serenely  now 
Upon  a  bed  of  crimson  sank  to  rest. 
Oh,  never  fairer  visions  blessed  mine  eyes  ! 
Far  in  the  distance  waved  the  rip'ning  wheat, 
And  the  young  corn,  covering  broad  acres, 
Tossed  its  green  blades  exultingly.     Near  by, 
In  garden  bowers,  the  clustering  grape 
And  golden  nectarine  sure  promise  gave 
Of  autumn  fruitage  and  of  harvest-cheer. 


A'.IA\S'.1S.  99 

The  cattle,  sleek  and  noble,  half  concealed 
Amid  the  blooming  clover,  flecked  the  glades ; 
Whilst  merrily  the  birds  their  roundelay 
Poured  forth,  and  every  tree,  and  wayside  hedge 
Sparkled  with  rain-drops  in  the  setting  sun. 

And  as  I  mused  at  this  sweet  evening  time, 
I  seemed  to  hear  that  voice  which  Adam  heard 
At  the  cool  hour  of  day,  saying  :  "/?<?  still, 
And  know  that  I  am  God  !     But  yesterday, 
From  this  fair  summit  thou  hadst  seen  ruin 
And  death;   on  every  side  war's  dread  alarm  ; 
The  torch  of  treason,  and  a  town  in  flames  ! 
Vet,  as  the  tempest  which  an  hour  ago 
Swept  o'er  the  sky,  scattering  its  thunderbolts, 
And  pouring  out  the  vials  of  its  wrath, 
Now  flies  apace,  its  awful  blackness  spanned 
By  the  glad  bow  of  promise,  leaving  earth 
More  beautiful  than  ever,  —  so  Kansas, 
(ireen  garden  of  the  continent,  comes  forth 
From  the  fierce  furnace  of  her  sufferings, 
In  purer  vestments  clad,  since  clouds  that  hung 
Over  her  fair  domain  have  passed  away, 
And  peace  and  plenty  gladden  all  the  land." 


BOSTON   TO   CHICAGO. 

GREETING  and  blessing,  Chicago  ! 
A  right  hearty  shake  of  the  hand  ; 
You  are  sending  us  many  car-loads 
Of  the  needful  things  of  the  land  ; 
And  we  in  turn  are  remitting 

Our  thousands  of  silver  and  gold  ; 
Let  the  bond  of  our  friendship  forever 
Be  strong  as  our  Union  is  old. 

We  're  piercing  the  sides  of  the  mountains, 

We  are  sweeping  o'er  valley  and  plain, 
To  tap  the  springs  at  their  fountains 

And  gather  the  golden  grain  ; 
And  our  New  England  pluck,  remember, 

Now  our  hand  has  hold  of  the  plough, 
Will  not  suffer  its  grasp  to  surrender 

Till  we  're  nearer  together  than  now. 

We  have  given  you  something,  Chicago, 
More  precious  than  silver  or  gold ; 

Treasures  dearer  than  gems  of  the  mountains 
Your  loving  embraces  enfold  : 


BOSTON   TO    CHICAGO.  IOI 

You  Ve  won  to  your  shrines  and  your  altars, 
At  Friendship's  and  Fortune's  behest, 

Our  sons,  and  our  beautiful  daughters, 
O  magical  Queen  of  the  West ! 

God  give  thee  good  speed  in  thy  mission, 

To  thy  giant  young  energies  play  ; 
The  wealth  of  the  valleys  compressing 

In  the  garners  you  're  filling  to-day. 
The  hungry  of  earth  will  require  it, 

The  Great  Father's  bountiful  store  ; 
Oh,  scatter  it  widely,  and  send  it 

To  the  dwellers  on  every  shore. 

And  the  song  of  praise  and  thanksgiving 

From  millions  far  over  the  sea, 
Will  swell  to  an  anthem  of  gladness 

As  its  echoes  come  backward  to  thee. 
And  so  long  as  the  earth  buds  and  blossoms, 

And  the  reaper  still  gathers  the  grain, 
And  our  banner  of  stars  floats  unsullied, 

May  this  bond  of  our  Union  remain. 

1867. 


BURNING   OF   CHICAGO. 


WALKED  among  thy  palaces, 

A  few  brief  moons  ago  ; 
The  prairie  blossomed  as  the  rose, 
The  lake  lay  calm  below  ; 
Of  all  the  land  thou  seemed  most  blessed, 

0  fair  Queen  City  of  the  West ! 

1  could  not  know  so  great  a  woe 

For  thee  was  kept  in  store,  — 
That  I  should  look  with  pride  upon 

Thy  matchless  form  no  more  ; 
That  the  fire-demon,  sweeping  past, 
Would  hurl  on  thee  his  dreadful  blast. 

Great  city  of  unvanquished  souls  ! 

Our  hearts  will  turn  to  thee  ; 
Thy  sorrow  chastens  all  our  joy, 

It  leaps  from  sea  to  sea ; 
From  hut  and  hall  I  hear  one  prayer, 
'• 'God  let  us  in  thy  suffering  share." 

IO2 


BURNING    OF  CHICAGO.  103 

Oh,  mighty  cord  of  brotherhood  ! 

Amid  earth's  wrongs  and  strife, 
How  grandly  breaks  upon  our  view 

This  golden  side  of  life  ; 
The  nations  read  in  thy  great  light, 
Chicago  !  glorious  truths  to-night ! 

Then  take  our  blessing  and  our  love, 

The  dear  old  love  of  yore  ; 
We  know  that  thou  wilt  rise  again, 

As  stately  as  before  ; 
Where  now  thy  ruined  columns  stand, 
We  '11  clasp  again  thy  strong  right  hand. 


SATURDAY   NIGHT. 

O,  brothers  on  life's  length'ning  way ; 
To-night,  as  in  the  golden  West 
The  sun  goes  down,  I  hear  a  voice 


To  our  tired  spirits  whispering,  ';  Rest  !  " 

Shut  off  the  water  from  the  wheel, 

And  let  the  busy  mill  be  still ; 
Leave  Care  and  Traffic  with  their  scores 

Of  gain  and  loss,  in  good  and  ill. 

Poor  pilgrims,  longing  evermore, 

We've  bowed  at  many  a  tempting  shrine  ; 
Too  far  astray,  our  hearts  to-night 

Cry  out  for  something  more  divine. 

What  were  our  life,  if  all  between 
Its  crowded  days  of  joy  and  grief, 

The  Sabbath  did  not  intervene 

With  its  sweet  breathings  of  relief? 
104 


SATURDAY  NIGHT.  105 

Then  hail,  C)  weary  heart,  with  me, 
This  hour  of  rest  from  labor  given  ; 

The  antepast  of  Peace  which  reigns 
Within  the  op'ning  gates  of  heaven. 

From  the  celestial  heights  we  gain 
In  this  surcease  of  care  and  strife, 

I  low  breaks  upon  our  view  that  Land 
Whose  boundaries  are  Eternal  Life  ! 


ONLY   WAITING. 

K  a  river  where  forest  and  field, 
Slope  gracefully  down  to  the  shore, 
A  man  and  his  wife  have  quietly  lived 
For  fifty  years  and  more. 

From  the  house,  which  was  built  before  their  day, 
They  can  follow  the  winding  stream 

Through  meadows  as  fair  as  ever  beguiled 
A  poet  in  his  dream. 

They  can  hear  the  hum  of  the  waterfall 

And  voices  from  over  the  lea, 
And  the  distant  stroke  of  the  woodman's  axe, 

And  murmurings  of  the  sea. 

'T  is  seldom  within  this  quiet  retreat 

The  face  of  the  stranger  is  seen  ; 
A  stillness,  like  that  of  the  Sabbath,  rests 

Upon  its  fields  of  green. 

The  house,  as  we  enter  its  time-worn  door, 

Has  an  air  of  unruffled  repose, 
Like  the  hush  of  a  dreamy  autumn  day 

When  nearing  to  its  close. 
1 06 


ONLY   WAITING. 


107 


It  speaks  of  a  harvest  of  gathered  sheaves, 

Of  reapers  with  toiling  all  o'er, 
Of  hand  in  hand  for  a  little  while  yet, 

Till  cometh  the  nevermore. 

We  feel  we  are  treading  on  hallowed  ground, 

And  reverently  bow  the  head, 
As  we  count  the  years  of  wedded  life 

They  have  together  led. 


IO8  MISCELLANEOUS. 

They  only  wait  for  a  few  more  morns, 

For  a  few  more  smiles  and  tears, 
When  the  hands  of  the  clock  will  cease  to  move 

In  numbering  their  years. 

It  is  said  the  house  in  their  early  days 
Was  known  for  its  music  and  mirth, 

When  laughter  and  song  kept  time  with  the  roar 
Of  fires  upon  their  hearth. 

But  tears  would  start  should  we  venture  to  speak 

Of  those  who  have  passed  away, 
And  we  deal  with  these  old  folks  tenderly 

In  all  we  have  to  say ; 

For  long  as  the  years  of  their  life  shall  last, 

And  memory  holdeth  its  throne, 
They  will  muse  on  scenes  of  the  buried  past 

While  living  here  alone  ; 

And  fain  would  know,  as  through  faith  the  bliss 

Of  the  heavenly  land  appears, 
If  they  '11  love  each  other  so  fondly  there 

As  here,  for  endless  years. 

We  may  wander  some  day  along  the  banks 

Of  this  river  quiet  and  fair, 
And  knock  at  the  door,  but  find  no  more 

These  old  folks  waiting  there. 


THE   PILGRIM   FATHERS. 

1C  of  my  boyhood,  wheresoe'er  I  stray, 
A  toiler  long  upon  the  world's  highway, 
My  heart  turns  fondly,  honored  shrine,  to 
thee, 

In  that  quaint  dwelling  near  the  restless  sea,  — 
Where  one  bleak  winter  eve  the  brave  Mayflower, 
Sport  of  the  wild  waves,  subject  to  their  power, 
Dropped  her  small  anchor  at  the  set  of  sun, 
Her  voyage    for   truth   and  conscience-sake   well 
done. 

Oft,  when  a  boy,  upon  the  hill  I  've  stood, 
Where   the    old    homestead    leaned    against    the 

wood, 

And  looked  across  the  intervening  vale 
Where  prouder  barques  to-day  in  triumph  sail, 
And  fancied  through  what  straits  the  Pilgrims  trod 
Those    desert  pathways  where  they  walked  with 

God. 

109 


HO  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Plain,  earnest  men  !  an  unbelieving  world 
Hailed  not  the  banner  which  they  there  unfurled ; 
As  they  went  forth  but  little  could  they  know 
That  streams  of  blessing  from  their  lives  would 

flow ; 

That  from  the  hut  which  unpretending  raised 
Its  lowly  roof  with  "  HERE  LET  GOD  BE  PRAISED," 
A  light  would  break  whose  radiance  afar 
Would  be  to  millions  as  a  morning  star ; 
That  laws  more  righteous   than    the    world    had 

known 

Would  be  the  product  of  the  seed  there  sown  ; 
And   commonwealths  would    rise    and    bless    the 

name, 
Of  saint  and  sage  then  all  unknown  to  fame. 


TWILIGHT. 

LOSE  not  for  awhile  the  shutters  ; 

Speed  not  thus  departing  day  : 
It  will  breathe  its  choicest  blessings 
As  it  glides  from  time  away. 

These  are  hours  I  prize  the  highest, 

Moments  of  the  soul's  release 
From  its  constant  round  of  duty, 

To  that  blissful  haven.  PKACK. 

As  the  gath'ring  darkness  deepens, 

Twilight,  ling' ring  in  the  west, 
Bringeth  with  its  benedictions. 

To  the  heavy-laden,  rest. 

Ere  the  vision  shall  elude  us, 

Softer  speak  the  whispered  word  ; 

All  the  fountains  of  our  being 

In  this  hallowed  hour  are  stirred. 
1 1 1 


112  MISCELLANEOUS. 

While  the  fire-lights  flame  and  flicker, 
Memory,  busy,  now  recalls 

Gentle  forms  who  round  us  lingered, 
Like  the  shadows  on  the  walls. 

As  upon  the  dusty  highway, 

Now  and  then,  some  cool  retreat 

For  a  moment  lures  us  thither, 
There  to  rest  our  weary  feet,  — 

So  the  twilight,  'mid  the  bustle 

Of  our  busy  life  imparts 
Strength  for  new  and  brave  endeavor, 

To  our  weak  and  fainting  hearts. 

Wait  not,  then,  but  close  the  shutters ; 

Duty  beckons  to  us  still ; 
But  the  hour  has  brought  us  courage 

For  our  task  through  good  and  ill. 


BOSTON    LIGHT    IN   NOVEMBER. 

LOOK   from  my  window  over  the  bay ; 
The    cold    east    wind  has   a  sorrowful 

tone ; 
The  light  of  this  dreary  November  day 

Departs,  and  I  'm  left  with  my  thoughts  alone. 

No  star  will  be  seen  in  the  murky  skies  ; 

The  sullen  clouds  hang  heavy  and  low ; 
Beyond  where  the  shadowy  fortress  lies, 

The  belated  sea-gulls  wearily  go. 

The  heart  has  no  words  in  which  to  express 
Its  secret  emotions  of  grief  and  pain  ; 

The  hidden  depths  of  its  loneliness,  — 

Its  longings  for  something  it  cannot  attain. 

But  lo  !  through  the  gathering  mist  and  gloom, 
The  light  of  a  far-away  lighthouse  gleams  ; 

It  enters,  a  welcome  guest,  my  room, 

With  courage  emblazoned  upon  its  beams. 
8  1 13 


1 1 4  MISCELLANEO  US. 

And  to  other  hearts  afar  down  the  bay, 
Out  on  the  troubled  and  stormy  sea, 

To  the  homeward  bound,  it  has  brave  words  to 

say, 
Even  more  gladsome  than  unto  me. 

Ho,  beacon-light  on  this  rock-bound  strand  ! 

I  hail  thee  ever  as  lover  and  friend  ; 
Thou  dost  take  the  desolate  one  by  the  hand, 

And  benisons  over  the  billows  send. 

No  matter  how  lonely  and  dark  the  night, 

Or  wildly  the  tempest-tossed  barque  may  stray, 

The  ruddy  gleams  of  thy  sentinel  light, 
Like  angels  of  mercy,  glide  over  the  bay. 


UPON   THE   SEA. 

O-NIGHT,  O  God,  upon  the  sea, 
The  sufferer  turns  his  eyes  to  Thee ; 
Through    the    dark    day    the    howlim 

blast 

Has  swept  with  fearful  fury  past ; 
And  many  hearts  in  wild  despair 
Have  bowed  in  agony  of  prayer; 
For,  tempest  tossed,  on  half  a  wreck, 
The  sailor  treads  the  quivering  deck  : 
He  prayed  that  one  faint  ray  of  light 
Might  break  the  clouds  ere  came  the  night  ; 
r.ut  now  the  night  is  overspread 
Upon  his  poor  defenceless  head, 
And  whither  can  the  sailor  flee, 
Oh,  whither,  Father,  but  to  Thee  ! 

Just  now  I  dreamed  that  by  my  side 
He  stood  in  all  his  manly  pride  ; 
I  looked  upon  his  earnest  face, 
Still  radiant  in  its  boyhood's  grace  ; 
"5 


I  1 6  MJSCELLANEO US. 

I  pressed  him  to  my  heart,  but  lo  ! 
Against  the  casement  beats  the  snow ; 
And  through  my  struggling  tears  I  see 
Him  clinging  to  a  wreck  at  sea. 

Speak  THOU  !  and  whisper,  "  Peace  be  still," 

O  THOU  !  the  waves  obey  Thy  will ; 

And  succor  to  the  needy  send, 

O  THOU  !  who  art  the  sufferer's  friend  ; 

And  spare  to-night  upon  the  sea 

The  soul  that  turns,  O  Lord,  to  thee  ! 


THE   LAST   ROBIN. 

KT  a  little  longer, 

Robin  reel-breast,  stay 
All  thy  gay  companions 
Long  since  flew  away  : 
While  the  groves  were  vocal 

With  their  merry  chime, 
Quickly  on  the  dial 

Moved  the  hands  of  Time. 

O'er  the  hazy  landscape 

Stand  the  stacks  of  grain  ; 
Autumn's  golden  sentinels 

Marshalled  on  the  plain  ; 
And  the  shouts  of  reapers, 

(lathering  their  sheaves, 
Mingle  with  the  rustling 

Of  the  falling  leaves. 

Memories  tinged  with  sadness 

Weigh  upon  the  heart, 
As  with  cherished  objects 

Tenderly  we  part ; 
117 


1 1 8  M ISC  EL  LANEO  US. 

For  the  cricket,  singing 
At  the  open  door, 

Tells  us  we  may  never 
Look  upon  them  more. 

Then  a  little  longer 

Lingering  by  the  way, 
Herald  of  the  spring-time, 

Robin  red- breast,  stay  ; 
While  the  shadows  lengthen, 

And  the  earth,  grown  sere, 
Wraps  her  frosty  mantle 

Round  the  closing  year. 


SONG   OF   THE   HARVEST. 

HE  glad  harvest  greets  us,  brave   toiler 

for  bread, 
Good  cheer  !  the  prospect  is  brighter 

ahead  ; 

Like  magic,  the  plentiful  sunshine  and  rain 
Have  ripened  our  millions  of  acres  of  grain  ; 
And   the   poorest   the  wolf  may  keep    from    his 

door,  — 

There  '11  be  bread  and  to  spare  another  year  more. 
So  sing  merrily,  merrily, 

As  we  gather  it  in  ; 
We  will  store  it  away  gladly, 
In  garner  and  bin. 

We  hailed  with  delight,  yet  tempered  with  fear, 
The  corn  as  it  grew  from  the  blade  to  the  ear; 
Lest  haply,  though  large  is  the  surplus  in  store, 
That  bread  might  be  dearer  for  twelve  months  or 


120  MISCELLANEOUS. 

But  the  sunshine  and  rain,  how  they  ripened  the 

grain 

That  waited  the  sickle  over  hillside  and  plain  ! 
So  sing  merrily,  merrily, 

As  we  gather  it  in  ; 
We  will  store  it  away  gladly, 
In  garner  and  bin. 

Oh,  ne'er  let  us  question  the  Wisdom  which  guides 
Our  feet  in  green  pastures,  and  for  us  provides ; 
Who  now,  as  aforetime,  His  glory  displays, 
In  the  bounty  that  crowns  our  autumnal  days  : 
Let  the  glad  tidings  echo  the  continent  o'er, 
There '//  be  bread  and  to  spare  another  year  more  ! 

So  sing  merrily,  merrily, 
As  we  gather  it  in  ; 

We  will  store  it  away  gladly, 
In  garner  and  bin. 


THE   WEEK   BEFORE    CHRISTMAS. 

ROM  break  of  dawn  till  set  of  sun, 
My  house  is  kept  brimful  of  fun  : 
Mysterious  whisperings  are  heard  ; 
In  drawers  and  closets  things  are  stirred  ; 
I  'in  stoutly  charged  to  keep  away 
From  this  and  that  by  night  and  day ; 
And  if,  perchance,  I  happen  in, 
My  ears  are  greeted  with  the  din 
Of  feet,  a  hurrying  to  and  fro, 
Concealing  things  they  dare  not  show. 
And  when  amid  the  whirl  and  clutter 
I  ask,  "  Do  tell  me  what  's  the  matter?" 
The  answer  I  am  sure  to  get 
Is,  "  Pray  don't  be  in  such  a  fret  ! 
For  only  once  a  year,  you  know, 
Hides  Cupid  in  the  mistletoe  ; 
And  by  and  by,  yes,  by  and  by, 
You  '11  know  the  merry  reason  why." 

Ah,  blithesome  torments  !   who  would  miss 
These  moments  of  unclouded  bliss? 

121 


122  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Or  lose  this  rapture  of  a  child 
To  be  by  fairy-sprites  beguiled? 
Or  care  to  know  thy  secrets,  till 
The  shout  is  heard  o'er  vale  and  hill, 

ON  EARTH  BE  PEACE,  GOOD  WILL  TO  MEN, 
THE  STAR,  THE  STAR  OF  BETHLEHEM  ! 


DECEMBER. 


HAT  though  northern  blasts  arc  sweeping 
I'T/'YM!     Over  now  the  frost-bound  lea? 

^&M     The  returning  sun  is  bringing 
Hope  and  cheer  for  you  and  me. 


We  have  oft  repined  while  passing 

Through  these  drear  December  days ; 

Now  the  curtain,  slowly  rising, 
Turns  complaining  into  praise. 

Drifting  on  —  how  small  our  knowledge 
Of  the  Hand  which  guards  and  guides 

Our  frail  barques  amid  the  currents, 
Of  life's  ever  shifting  tides  ! 

Sooner  than  our  fancy  pictures, 
Robin  red-breast,  some  fine  day, 

Will  be  blithely  saying  to  us, 

"  Snow  and  ice  have  passed  away." 
123 


124  MISCELLANEOUS. 

So  it  is,  in  shine  and  shadow 
We  are  hearing  words  of  cheer  • 

Never  more  than  when  the  darkness 
Deepens  round  the  closing  year. 

How  will  clouds  that  still  may  vex  us 
Speed  their  flight  if  we  remember, 

Though  some  days  are  dark  and  dreary, 
'Twill  not  always  be  December. 


THE   WAYSIDE    REST. 

THIS  wayside  rest,  beneath  the  spreading  tree, 
Was  meant,  O  weary  traveller,  for  thee ; 
Here  take  thine  ease,  and  bless  the  kindly  hand 
That  for  thy  comfort  this  good  seat  hath  planned. 


ANOTHER  YEAR. 

MOTHER  year?  and  shall  we  then 
]Je  found  among  the  marts  of  men  ? 
Upon  life's  page  will  there  be  still 
Some  little  space  for  us  to  fill  ? 
Or  will  the  day  of  life  be  o'er, 
And  we  be  known  as  here  no  more  ? 

Not  now  may  we  discern  the  goal ; 
So  up  and  on,  O  earnest  soul ! 
There  yet  is  work  for  you  and  me  ; 
The  cross  before  the  crown  must  be  ; 
The  Master  whom  we  serve  knows  best 
When,  worn  and  weary,  we  may  rest. 

And,  brother,  as  along  the  race 
Of  life  you  reach  a  higher  place, 
Enough  for  me,  beneath  the  hill, 
To  tread  the  quiet  valley  still  ! 
Enough  if  I  may  sing  a  lay, 
To  charm  a  passing  hour  away. 
I25 


126  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Then  let  us,  with  a  manly  heart, 
Each  in  his  way  perform  his  part ; 
And  lift  some  load,  as  on  we  go, 
From  shoulders  bending  weak  and  low ; 
And  leave  behind  us  more  than  fame  — 
The  record  of  an  honored  name. 


THE    PORTRAIT    PAINTER. 

HE  had  the  skill  the  lineaments  to  trace, 
And  on  the  canvas  paint  the  human  face ; 
To  one  bright  goal  his  eyes  were  ever  turned, 
To  win  that  prize  the  fires  within  him  burned ; 
His  work  the  critics  censured  more  than  praised, 
Though  oft  they  had  his  expectations  raised ; 
In  unremitting  toil  he  did  his  best, 
Then  penniless  passed  on  to  his  eternal  rest. 


TO   SAMUEL   FRANCIS   SMITH. 

AUTHOR  OF  "AMERICA." 
1808-1888. 

EAR  friend  of  well- remembered  years, 
When  youth  was  on  thy  brow,  and  mine, 
Thy  smoothly  flowing  numbers  seemed 
A  well-spring  from  a  source  Divine. 

With  undiminished  affluence  still, 

From  the  same  fountain  calm  and  clear, 

Flow  melodies  as  musical 

As  dropped  upon  my  boyhood's  ear. 

Ay,  holier  are  their  undertones, 

And  richer  with  the  lore  of  age  ; 
The  op'ning  vista  down  the  vale 

Grows  broader  to  the  saint  and  sage. 

As  friends  beloved  reach  one  by  one 
Life's  limit,  threescore  years  and  ten, 

Thy  fingers  touch  the  old-time  chords, 
Responsive  with  their  sweet  Am  ens. 
127 


128  MISCELLANEOUS. 

For  never  fairer  is  the  vine 

Than  when  its  purpling  grapes  hang  low  ; 
And  life's  divinest  hour  is  when 

T  is  radiant  in  its  sunset  glow. 

And  thou  dost  stay  the  fleeting  hours, 
To  paint  the  blush  ere  it  depart ; 

And  weave  thy  benedictions  round 
The  holiest  tendrils  of  the  heart. 

Oh,  heavenly  gift  of  poesy  ! 

And  beautiful,  when  it  doth  bless 
As  thine  hath  done  thy  fellow- man, 

In  its  embracing  tenderness. 

As  oft  a  harp  will  murmur  on 

When  the  sweet  song  we  sang  is  o'er, 

And  charm  us  with  its  memories  when 
The  hand  that  swept  it  is  no  more,  — 

So  will  remembrance  of  thy  life, 

Its  fourscore  years  of  song  and  cheer, 

Like  music  linger  when  we  miss 

Thy  presence  from  our  pathways  here. 


ODE. 

Celebration  of  the  City  of  Boston,  July  4,  1870. 

HILE  hill  and  valley,  stream  and  shore, 
Break  forth  in  songs  of  joy  once  more, 
We  come,  the  children  of  the  Free, 
And  bring  our  tribute,  Lord,  to  thee. 

How  fair  the  heritage  we  claim, 
Jehovah,  ransomed  in  Thy  name ; 
Fresh  verdure  springs  along  the  way 
In  which  Thy  people  walk  to-day. 

A  sweeter  fragrance  lingers  round 
The  shrines  we  hail  as  holy  ground  ; 
And  dearer  grow  the  paths  we  tread, 
Above  the  consecrated  dead. 

()  land  of  promise  !  native  land  ! 
Serene  before  the  nations  stand  ; 
Uy  Clod  inspired  to  bless  the  throng 
Which  press  the  world's  highways  along. 
9  129 


130 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


From  foes  reclaimed,  by  Truth  made  free, 
Thy  form  shall  ever  fairer  be, 
As  under  His  benign  control, 
The  gathering  ages  onward  roll. 


LET   EVERY   HEART   REJOICE  AND 
SING. 

Sung  by  children  of   the  Sabbath  Schools  of   Boston  in  Faneuil 
Hall,  July  4,  1842. 


ET  every  heart  rejoice  and  sing, 

Let  the  swelling  chorus  rise  ; 
Ye  reverend  men  and  children,  bring 


To  God  your  sacrifice  : 
Whilst  the  breath  of  the  morning  fioateth 

Along  our  valleys  fair, 
And  the  song  of  gladness  riseth, 

Upon  the  dewy  air,  — 

While  the  rocks  and  the  rills, 
While  the  vales  and  the  hills, 
A  glorious  anthem  raise,  — 

Let  each  prolong 

The  grateful  song, 
And  the  God  of  our  fathers  praise  ! 

Where  first  the  voice  of  freedom 

Was  heard  in  days  of  yore, 
Now  let  the  children's  children 

Repeat  that  song  once  more- ; 


1 3  2  MISCELLANEOUS. 

While  our  Country's  banner  o'er  us 

Still  waveth  proudly  free, 
Oh,  let  the  exulting  chorus 

Ascend,  great  God,  to  thee  : 
While  the  rocks  and  the  rills, 
While  the  vales  and  the  hills, 
A  glorious  anthem  raise  ; 

Let  each  prolong 

The  grateful  song, 
And  the  God  of  our  fathers  praise. 


TREMONT   TEMPLE. 


ESTORED    once    more    from    out    the 

flames, 

As  Time  rolls  on,  through  good  and  ill, 
Fair  Temple  !    to  all  noble  aims, 
We  come  to  consecrate  thee  still : 

To  Speech,  unfettered  as  the  wind, 

To  Liberty,  restrained  by  law, 
To  Charity,  for  all  mankind, 

To  Visions,  such  as  prophets  saw. 

For  all  who  seek  the  lost  to  find, 

And  draw  them  from  the  paths  of  sin, 

Lift  high  thy  Temple  gates,  and  let 
The  heralds  of  Salvation  in. 

When  Science,  Learning,  Art,  and  Song 
Combine,  the  throngs  to  lure  and  bless, 

As  glide  the  favored  hours  along, 
Thev  will  not  love  thine  altars  less. 


1 34  MISCELLANEOUS. 

O  grandly  reconstructed  walls  ! 

May  our  glad  work  and  mission  be,  — 
To  make  more  fair,  as  duty  calls, 

This  much  loved  city  by  the  sea. 

Great  Author  of  the  rolling  years ! 

Unchanged,  through  Time  and  Space  the  same, 
In  every  shrine  which  Goodness  rears, 

Forever  honored  is  thy  name. 

October,   iSSo. 


DOMESTIC. 


THERE  is  no  spot  in  all  this  wide-spread  earth, 
He  hails  more  gladly  than  the  quiet  hearth, 
Who  sought  for  honor,  struggled  hard  for  fame, 
And  grasps  the  shadow  of  a  fleeting  name. 


HOME. 


Domestic  happiness,  thou  only  bliss 
Of  Paradise  that  has  survived  the  fall ! 
Thou  art  the  nurse  of  Virtue.     In  thine  arms 
She  smiles,  appearing,  as  in  truth  she  is, 
Heaven-born  and  destined  to  the  skies  again  ! 

COWPER. 

O   speaks    the   world  —  where   hearts   in 

union  beat, 
On  the  thronged  highway  or  the  lonely 

street, 

In  the  proud  palace  or  the  poor  man's  cot, 
LOVE  makes  the  home,  and  sanctifies  the  spot. 

The    thoughtless    youth    its    quiet    charms    may 

spurn, 

To  other  scenes  his  wayward  fancy  turn, 
And  man  for  pleasure,  honor,  power,  may  stray 
Far  from  the  landmarks  of  his  boyhood's  day  — 
137 


138  DOMESTIC. 

Yet  will  his  heart,  responsive  to  the  past, 
Weary  with  life,  oft  backward  glances  cast 
Adown  the  vistas  of  remembered  years, 
Illumed  by  smiles,  but  oftener  dimmed  with  tears, 
And  anchor  fondly  where  it  spread  its  sail 
To  the  delusions  of  the  passing  gale. 


E  D  K  N. 

From  a  poem  delivered  before  the  Literary  Fraternity  of  Water- 
ville  College,  now  Colby  University,  August,  1841. 

AIR  was    the    earth !    in   vernal    beauty 
drest, 

The   bright  creation  of  His   high   be 
hest 

Whose  power  unseen  from  chaos  order  made, 
The  frowning  mountain,  and  the  smiling  glade, 
When  man,  last  formed,  yet  first  beneath  the  skies, 
Devoutly  hailed  the  bliss  of  Paradise. 

The  flowers  blushed  sweetly  as  each  rival  hue 
Revealed  its  beauties  first  to  Adam's  view ; 
And  softly  strayed  the  cool,  delicious  air 
Among  the  branches  of  the  cedars  there. 
The  lake  that  mirrored  on  its  breast  that  night 
The  stars  of  heaven  with  new-created  light, 
More  glorious  still  reflected  morning's  ray, 
Which  child-like  dallied  with  its  virgin  spray ; 
And  music  woke,  far  over  hill  and  plain,  — 
Sounds  so  melodious  may  not  breathe  again. 
'39 


140  DOMESTIC. 

How  blessed  amid  those  Eden  bowers  to  walk, 

And  free  with  Nature  and  her  Maker  talk  ! 

Still  undefiled  by  spot  or  stain  of  sin, 

To  mar  the  image  of  the  God  within. 

Yet  not  complete  ;  though  Eden  bloomed  around, 

One    yearning   void    in    man's    lone    breast    was 

found  ; 

And  power  Divine  spake  woman  into  life, 
And  Adam  clasped  in  Eve  his  young,  enchanting 

wife. 


Now  hill  and  vale  in  wilder  beauty  grew, 
As  hand  in  hand  they  hailed  the  enrapturing  view  ; 
And  sweeter  flowers  still  fairer  festoons  made, 
More  grateful  was  the  palm-trees'  cooling  shade, 
The  murmuring  zephyrs  breathed  a  gladder  tone, 
For  Heaven  decreed,  "Man  should  not  live  alone." 

Thus  came  the  gift !  and  where,  O  muse,  wilt  thoti 
For  garlands  wander  to  bedeck  thy  brow  ? 
Where,    in    thy    flight    from    whence    the    vision 

broke, 

When  woman  smiled  and  man  to  bliss  awoke, 
Where  wilt  thou  pause  to  gather  gems  that  glow, 
The  pledge  that  love  yet  lingers  here  below? 


EDEN.  141 

As  the  mild  graces  of  this  favored  hour, 
Steal  o'er  the  senses  with  bewitching  power, 
Charmed  with    the  scene,   the  adventurous   muse 

awakes, 

And  the  long  silence  of  her  slumber  breaks, 
While    Home,  —  Sweet    Home  !    the    burden    of 

her  lay, 
Breathes  from  her  harp  as  glide  the  hours  away. 


BOY   AND   MAIDEN. 

'  ROM  the  ever  deep'ning  distance 

Of  the  past,  I  oft  recall 
One  whose  smile  upon  my  pathway 
As  a  sunbeam  seemed  to  fall ; 
Who,  when  dropped  the  apple  blossoms, 

Loved  adowu  the  lanes  to  stray, 

Plucking  here  and  there  a  wild  flower, 

Fragrant  with  the  breath  of  May. 

Day  by  day  some  fancy  lured  us 

Where  the  village  pathways  met, 
I  a  boy  with  boundless  longings, 

She  an  artless  school-girl  yet,  — 
And  this  fair  and  winsome  maiden. 

Tripping  lightly  o'er  the  lea, 
Hidden  in  her  basket  often, 

Had  a  chosen  flower  for  me. 

Not  a  word  was  ever  spoken, 

Very  strange  to  me  it  seems,  — 
Not  a  whisper  passed  between  us, 

Of  the  burden  of  our  dreams  ; 
142 


BOY  AND   MAIDEN.  143 

Not  as  lovers'  were  our  meetings, 
Nor  as  lovers'  our  good-byes  ; 

Only  boy  and  maiden  were  we, 
Handsome  in  each  other's  eyes. 

Many  years  have  come  and  vanished, 

And  our  locks  are  thin  and  gray ; 
Still  she  plucks  for  me  the  wild  (lowers, 

Fragrant  with  the  breath  of  May  : 
More  than  maiden  I  behold  her, 

With  the  sunset  on  her  brow, 
For  as  one  of  God's  good  angels, 

She  is  walking  with  me  now. 


THE   COTTAGE   BONNET. 


A    SIMPLE    cottage   bonnet 

she  wore, 
Of  braided  straw,  in    the 

days  of  yore  ; 
It  had  a  Quakerish  look, 

't  is  true, 
With  its    plain    trimmings 

of  white  and  blue  • 
But  whene'er  she  thrust  her  veil  aside, 
And  stood  in  the  bloom  of  maiden  pride, 
You  could  not  ask  for  a  face  more  fair 
Than  beamed  from  beneath  that  bonnet  there. 

It  took  the  eye  of  one  who  now 
Looks  fondly  on  that  same  fair  brow ; 
And  often  as  returns  that  day, 
The  last  sweet  Sabbath  morn  in  May, 
He  hears  again  the  robin  sing, 
And  sees  the  lark  upon  the  wing ; 
The  apple-trees  are  white  with  bloom, 
The  air  is  fragrant  with  perfume. 
144 


TlfK    COTTAGE   nO\XET.  145 

A  simple  cottage  bonnet  still 
Doth  all  his  waning  pulses  thrill, 
And  wakens  the  remembered  lays 
That  sanctified  those  early  days. 

And  when  upon  the  crowded  streets 
The  matron  and  the  maid  he  meets 
With  shapeless  hats  and  tangled  curls, 
He  oft  recalls  the  modest  girls 
Who  tripped  along  at  even-tide, 
Unvexed  by  fashion's  pomp  and  pride  ; 
And  her  who  was  his  virgin  bride, 
Who,  walking  with  him  down  the  hill, 
Could  wear  a  cottage  bonnet  still, 
And  be  as  fair  and  sweet  to-day 
As  on  that  rosy  morn  in  May. 


EARLY  AND  LATER  LOVE. 


COULD  not  know,  as  swift  the  years, 
My  dear,  their  ceaseless  cycles  run, 
And  smiles  are  often  changed  to  tears, 


As  visions  vanish  one  by  one, 

That  now  my  heart  would  cling  to  thine 
As  never  in  life's  early  morn ; 

For  though  that  love  seemed  all  divine, 
'T  was  not  of  this  deep  fulness  born. 

Our  early  love  was  as  the  blush 

Of  the  young  morning  bright  and  gay; 
Our  later  love  is  as  the  hush, 

When  sunset  shadows  glide  away. 

The  peace  of  life's  calm  eventide 
Befits  the  furrowed  brow  of  age  : 

And  love,  by  memories  sanctified, 
Is  an  abiding  heritage. 
146 


EARLY  AND   LATER   LOVE.  147 

Adown  the  vale  the  nearer  view 

Of  heaven  dispels  the  lingering  fear, 

As  hand  in  hand  \ve  still  pursue 
The  onward  path  of  duty  here. 

Oh,  it  were  well,  when  conflicts  cease, 
And  toil  and  turmoil  vex  no  more, 

Beside  life's  gathered  sheaves  in  peace, 
To  live  its  checkered  journey  o'er. 

Though  adverse  winds  awhile  may  blow, 
And  clouds  their  shadows  o'er  us  cast, 

There  's  something  tells  me  that  the  bow 
Of  Hope  will  span  our  sky  at  last. 

Oh,  early  love  and  later  love  ! 

One,  through  the  years  which  God  hath  given, 
A  glimpse  and  foretaste  from  above 

Of  the  perfected  love  of  heaven. 


OUR   OLD    HOMESTEAD. 

S  a  landmark  quaint  and  hoary, 
Still  to  me  the  old  house  stands, 
Half  concealed  by  trees  around  it, 
From  the  fragrant  meadow  lands. 

There  my  sires  for  generations 
Hailed  the  coming  of  the  sun  — 

There  they  rested  from  their  labors, 
When  their  daily  task  was  done. 

Few  and  simple  were  their  longings, 

Frugal  was  their  honest  fare, 
And  that  gentle  maid,  Contentment, 

Was  a  constant  presence  there. 

From  a  brook  which  never  failed  them 

They  drew  water  day  by  day, 
While  its  music  gladdened  ever 

All  the  banks  along  its  way. 

148 


OUR    OLD   IIO.WESTKAn.  149 

There  the  lilacs  blossomed  earl}", 
'There  the  corn  its  tassels  waved, 

There  the  barn  was  filled  with  plenty, 
When  the  storms  of  winter  raved. 

All  its  pathways  in  my  boyhood 
Led  to  pastures  fair  and  sweet; 

Oh,  how  oft  have  they  been  trodden 
By  my  bare  and  restless  feet. 

Stranger,  you  may  find  this  homestead 
Near  the  spot  the  Pilgrims  prest, 

When  the  Mayllo\ver  bore  her  burden 
Where  the  weary  might  find  rest. 

Should  you  scan  its  plain  surroundings, 

And  inquire  the  reason  why 
I  have  lured  you  for  a  moment 

From  your  way  while  passing  by  — 

'T  is  to  show  you,  O  my  brother. 

Wandering  the  wide  world  round, 
That  in  such  retreats  the  truest 

Source  of  earthly  bliss  is  found. 


STARTING   IN  LIFE. 

OFT  recall  that  well-remembered  day, 
Which  brightly  dawned  upon  my  boy 

hood's  way, 

When  leaving  home  I  crossed  the  village  green, 
Just  as  the  sun  above  the  hills  was  seen. 

My  simple  pack,  my  treasured  all,  was  there, 
Laden  with  tokens  of  a  mother's  care, 
With  gifts  affection's  loving  hands  had  brought, 
Some  dear  memento  that  a  sister  wrought, 
Some  modest  gem  the  giver  prayed  might  be 
Bound  to  my  heart  for  "Aye  remember  me." 

"God  keep  thy  spirit  pure  and  undefiled; 
God's  blessing  rest  upon  thy  path,  my  child," 
Was  her  adieu  who  evermore  would  hold 
In  her  embrace  the  first  son  of  her  fold. 
And  as  I  lingered  at  the  open  door 
For  one  last  kiss,  for  one  fond  good-by  more. 
The  little  birds  their  sweetest  farewell  sang, 
The  dim  old  woods  with  farewell  echoes  rang, 


STARTING   IN  LIFE.  151 

The  sparkling  rills  sent  up  a  farewell  sigh, 
The  drooping  willows  softly  breathed,  "  Good-by," 
And  brier,  and  fern,  and  dewy  scented  flower 
Joined  in  the  farewells  of  that  parting  hour. 

I  wandered  slowly  through  the  crowded  street, 

But  caught  no  smile  from  all  I  chanced  to  meet ; 

A  homesick  boy  on  life's  uncertain  way, 

To  win  esteem  or  go,  alas  !  astray. 

The  city's  din,  its  scenes  so  strange  and  new, 

Passed  like  a  dream  before  my  wondering  view, 

And  silver  lays  from  fairy  harps  were  sung, 

And  Pleasure  wooed  me  with  her  flattering  tongue. 

'T  was  then  I  felt  that  some  restraining  power 
Seemed  to  be  near  me  in  the  trying  hour ; 
When  for  the  Right  I  wished  unmoved  to  stand, 
I  felt  the  pressure  of  a  helping  hand  ; 
When  to  my  lips  was  brought  the  cup  of  bliss, 
Upon  my  cheek  I  felt  my  mother's  kiss  ; 
And  strength  sufficient  for  the  day  was  given,  — 
Oh,  still  they  lure  my  erring  feet  to  heaven. 


THANKSGIVING   EVE. 

i|Y  boyhood's  home  before  me  lies, 

Just  as  it  looked  when  life  was  young, 
Ere  I  had  spread  my  tiny  sail, 
Or  to  the  breeze  my  pennons  flung ; 
The  blue  smoke  climbs  the  hill  beside, 

The  brook  goes  singing  on  its  way, 
And  voices  near  and  far  proclaim, 
The  coming  of  Thanksgiving  Day. 

A  thousand  welcomes,  as  of  old, 

Ring  out  upon  the  frosty  air, 
While  through  the  orchard  boughs  I  see 

The  village  lights  reflected  there ; 
To-morrow  will  be  festal  time, 

And  city  halls  and  hamlets  low 
Will  echo  to  the  merry  chimes, 

And  memories  of  lon    ao. 


THANKSGIVING   EVE.  153 

We  all  are  young  who  gather  here, — 

The  sire  of  three-score  years  and  ten 
'Irips  lightly  with  his  sweet  grandchild, 

The  gayest  of  our  youngest  men  ; 
For  who  cares  aught  for  wrinkles  now. 

Or  sighs  because  his  locks  are  gray? 
I  Us  heart  beats  light  who  hails  with  me 

The  feasts  of  our  Thanksgiving  Day. 

Now  let  me  slumber  once  again 

In  that  old  chamber  in  the  Ell, 
And  wake  up  from  my  dreams,  and  hear 

The  night-winds  through  the  casement  swell ; 
No  monarch  has  a  grander  couch, 

Or  softer  down  on  which  to  rest, 
Than  mine  will  be,  for  oh,  my  friends, 

1  'in  once  more  in  my  boyhood's  nest  ! 


THE   SCHOOL-BOY'S   VACATION. 

IS  trunk  was  packed  for  days  before  ; 
The  blood  coursed  quickly  through  his 

veins ; 

The  hours  he  counted  o'er  and  o'er, 
As  counts  the  captive  in  his  chains : 
His  task  was  finished  —  why  delay 
The  eagle  in  his  upward  way? 

He  rose  ere  morn  illumed  the  skies ; 

The  clock  had  only  rung  out  three  ; 
It  was  an  early  hour  to  rise, 
But  not  an  early  hour  for  thee, 

O  boy  !  for  in  thy  dreams  all  night, 
How  loomed  the  promised  land  in  sight ! 

Thou  wert  away  among  the  hills  ; 

Where  mountains  rear  their  lofty  heads ; 
Where  sweetly  sing  the  crystal  rills, 
And  green  banks  fringe  the  river  beds ; 

Where  flocks,  and  herds,  and  bird,  and  bee 
A  thousand  welcomes    ave  to  thee. 


THE  SCHOOL-BOY'S    VACATION.       155 

O  boy  !  I  would  that,  free  as  thou, 

I,  too,  might  sweep  o'er  hill  and  plain ;  — 
Without  a  wrinkle  on  my  brow, 

Live  over  life's  young  morn  again; 
And  pack  my  trunk,  and  rise  at  three, 
And  start  at  eight,  along  with  thee. 


THE  TROUBLE  OF  THE  HOUSE. 

HEY  name  her  "  Trouble  of  the  House,' 

My  merry  little  one, 
And  tell  large  stories  of  the  deeds 
Her  busy  hands  have  done ; 

That  every  room  has  its  own  tale 

Of  mischief  to  declare, 
Of  eyes  which  peer  exceeding  bright 

Through  locks  of  golden  hair. 

I  don't  believe  one-half  they  say ; 

And  if  I  did,  what  then? 
Why,  simply  that  her  little  life 

Was  bubbling  up  again ; 

That  one  more  ray  of  sunlight  streamed 

Through  this  fair  world  of  ours  ; 
That  one  more  bud  was  blossoming, 

Within  our  garden  bovvers. 
156 


THE    TROUBLE   OF   THE   HOUSE,       157 

True,  wrecks  of  many  a  toy  and  gem 

Lie  scattered  on  the  floor  : 
And  little  feet  come  pattering 

Through  every  open  door  ; 

And  tireless  as  the  bee  which  culls 

Its  honey  from  the  flower, 
Her  mind,  with  curious  wonderings  filled, 

Is  busy  every  hour. 

But  \ve  as  soon  the  streams  may  turn 

Which  to  the  ocean  roll, 
As  quench  this  spark  that  glows  and  burns 

In  an  immortal  soul. 

The  wish  to  know  the  why  and  when, 

The  mystery  to  explore, 
The  will  to  dare  the  path  to  tread 

We  have  not  trod  before  — 

Rules  both  alike  the  man  and  child, 

The  simple  and  the  wise  ; 
Both  chase  the  bubble  as  it  flits 

Before  their  eager  eyes  ; 

Both  sport  with  trifles,  —  bat  and  ball 

Are  in  our  hands  alway  ; 
And  longings  never  satisfied 

Attend  us  day  by  day. 


158  DOMESTIC. 

Then  chide  her  not,  but  rather  let 
Her  glad  heart  soar  and  sing  ; 

The  dew  is  fresh  upon  her  brow, 
Be  freedom  on  her  wing. 

We  hail  the  promise  of  to-day ; 

For,  if  the  ruddy  glow 
Of  morning  breaks  upon  us  such, 

What  may  the  evening  show  ! 


TO   N.   AT   THIRTY-TWO. 

[E^ig^I  IOU  ^\-\\\  art  dear,  as  day  by  day 
l^iMf^'       I  Prcss  :ilong  life's  lengthening  way, 
Ss^-bM      AS  'lcar  a^  when  thy  infant  smile 
Could  all  my  weary  hours  beguile, 
Or  when  thy  foot,  in  girlhood's  glee, 
Tripped  lightly  over  hill  and  lea. 

I  cannot  but  esteem  thee  more 

As  I  review  the  journey  o'er, 

And  see  how  that  sweet  life  of  thine 

Has  cheered  and  blessed  the  half  of  mine. 

I  would  the  sea  did  not  divide 
Thy  gentle  presence  from  my  side  ; 
That  I  might  know  this  morn  the  bliss, 
( )f  leaving  on  thy  brow  a  kiss. 

And  yet  these  leagues  of  raging  sea 
Which  roll  between  thyself  and  me, 


l6O  DOMESTIC. 

Shall  bear  the  prayer  that  God  will  bless 
Thy  coming  years  as  mine  grow  less, 
And  ever  make  thy  life  as  true 
As  now,  dear  child,  at  thirty- two  ! 

YENTNOK,  ISI.E  OF  WIGHT. 


MARIA. 

HILD  of  the  fair  and  open  brow, 
My  heart  clings  closely  up  to  thine, 
As  in  thy  eyes  enthroned  I  see, 
The  tokens  of  a  love  divine. 
No  voice  of  bird  or  summer  bee 

Is  sweeter  than  thy  guileless  speech  ; 
No  op'ning  blossom  of  the  Spring, 
Doth  purer  lines  of  goodness  teach. 

From  morn  till  eve  thy  quiet  ways, 

Have  the  same  artless  tale  to  tell ; 
\Yithin  thy  ever  loving  breast, 

The  sweetest  thoughts  of  goodness  dwell  : 
And  when  I  mark  thy  winning  smile, 

The  tears  will  oft  unbidden  start, 
As  clinging  closer,  still  I  press 

Thine  angel  presence  to  my  heart. 

Child  of  my  love  !   this  changing  world 
Oft  throws  its  shadows  o'er  my  way  ; 

And  turning  weary  from  its  scenes, 
I  long  to  reach  some  quiet  bay  ;  — 
it  1 6 1 


1 62  DOMESTIC. 

Some  haven,  where  the  strife  of  earth 
Will  not  oppress  my  spirit  so ; 

Where  kindred  hearts  speak  words  of  cheer, 
As  on  to  duty  still  we  go. 

That  haven  is  the  glad  hearthstone, 

At  which  thy  foot  in  childhood's  glee 
Doth  bound,  to  greet  my  coming  home, 

As  shadows  lengthen  o'er  the  lea. 
Here  ever,  as  a  vesper  star, 

A  loving  light  of  beauty  shed, 
As  evening  shades  around  me  close, 

The  angel  of  the  path  I  tread. 


OUR    CHILD. 

GIFT  from  Heaven,  —  our  joy  and  stay. 

She  grew  in  beauty  day  by  day, 
£:     And  oft  we  sought  with  all  things  fair 
Her  gentle  presence  to  compare, 
And  loved  her  more  as  Time  revealed 
The  worth  her  modesty  concealed  ; 
So  thoughtful,  true,  and  undefiled,  — 
From  maid  to  matron,  still  our  child, 

So  like  the  passing  of  a  dream 
\Vas  her  sweet  life,  she  '11  ever  seem 
Unchanged,  —  a  child  upon  my  kn<  c, 
With  loving  arms  embracing  me  ; 
A  morning  star,  whose  lingering  ray 
Made  beautiful  the  dawn  of  day. 
Then  melted  into  light  away. 


163 


OUR   HOUSEHOLD   PET. 

pet  of  our  household,  sober  and  gray, 
STRAWBERRY    FIXCH,    thou  art    passing 

away ; 

Thirteen  long  years  from  thy  Indian  nest,  — 
Beautiful  bird  !  it  is  time  thou  shouldst  rest. 

Scarce  to  the  perch  can  thy  crippled  feet  cling, 
Fainter  the  song  thou  art  striving  to  sing, 
The  half-opened  seed  drops  out  from  thy  bill, 
And  yet  thou  art  ling'ring  here  with  us  still. 

She  who  so  loved  thee  has  passed  from  our  eyes, 
Under  the  hillocks  her  gentle  form  lies  ; 
Nevermore  here  will  she  list  to  thy  strain,  — 
Why  should  we  wish  thee  with  us  to  remain? 

Bear  to  her,  bird  of  the  plumage  so  fair, 
Bear  to  her  love  Time  cannot  impair ; 
Tell  her  we  long  for  her  loving  embrace, 
And  the  smile  which  played  over  her  angelic  face. 
164 


OUR  HOUSEHOLD  PET. 


i65 


Nay,  nay,  tiny  songster,  \ve  '11  not  let  thee  go, 
There  is  joy  in  thy  presence,  a  balm  for  our  woe  ; 
With  each  quivering  note  of  thy  half-uttered  lay, 
Comes  the  voice  of  our  darling,  O  birdie,  to-day  ! 


TO   A.   AT   TWENTY-ONE. 

'  OU  ask  of  me,  my  child,  a  lay, 
Befitting  this  your  natal  day,  — 
A  simple  song,  warm  from  the  heart, 
As  you  with  girlhood's  morning  part, 
And  venture  forth  through  storm,  and  strife, 
Upon  the  untried  voyage  of  life. 

I  'm  sitting  here  beside  the  sea, 
The  winds  of  May  blow  over  me  ; 
And  many  a  ship  with  spreading  sail 
Greets  gladly  now  the  fav'ring  gale  : 
The  sailor  casts  one  fond  look  more, 
As  fast  recedes  his  native  shore, 
And  breathes  a  blessing,  warm  and  free, 
For  those  he  never  more  may  see. 

So,  I  behold  you  starting  now, 
With  youth  still  lingering  on  your  brow, 
With  sails  all  set  and  pennons  free, 
Just  out  upon  the  open  sea  ; 
166 


TO   A     AT   TWENTY-ONE.  \6/ 

And  fancy  that  your  heart  turns  o'er 
Its  leaves  of  memory,  as  the  shore 
Recedes  from  sight,  as  day  by  day, 
Your  barque  speeds  on  its  destined  way. 

Dear  child  !   may  ever  some  good  guide, 
Be  present  with  you  side  by  side,  — 
Some  pilot,  till,  all  wand'ring  o'er, 
Your  feet  have  gained  the  farther  shore  ; 
Some  loving  hand  to  lead  the  way, 
Through  the  bright  realms  of  perfect  day. 

EASTBOURNE,  ENGLISH  CHANNEL. 


A  SUNBEAM. 

JAVE  you  ever  met  her  skipping, 
Bounding  off  in  play, 
The  jolliest  of  all  creatures, 
The  gayest  of  the  gay  ? 
No  bird  has  lighter  pinions, 

Or  heart  more  glad  and  free  ; 
She  's  never  still  a  minute, 
But  she  's  very  dear  to  me. 

Her  black  eyes  sparkle  brightly, 

Her  cheeks  are  rosy  red, 
Her  hat  sits  very  queerly 

'Mong  the  curls  upon  her  head ; 
Her  frock  bears  certain  witness 

That  somebody  will  sigh, 
When  they  see  the  rents  and  tatters 

And  that  twinkle  in  her  eye. 

Dear,  busy  little  body, 

With  sunshine  in  thy  heart, 
Full  of  mischief  and  of  goodness, 

A  paradox  thou  art ; 
168 


A    SUXBEAM.  169 

I  could  fill  a  volume  counting 

Thy  many  failings  o'er, 
And  yet  it  is  my  weakness 

To  love  thee  more  and  more. 

This  world  is  full  of  sorrow, 

But  none  beclouds  thy  way  ; 
There  is  weeping  with  the  smiling 

In  all  our  homes  to-day  ; 
I5ut  what  canst  them  of  sorrow, 

My  darling,  know  or  care, 
With  the  sunlight  on  thy  pinions, 

And  thy  spirit  free  as  air? 


THY   NAME. 

To  R.  P. 

HE  world  may  say  thy  Scripture  name 
Doth  not  befit  thy  merry  youth  ; 
But  't  is  a  wreath  of  filial  fame, 
Inwoven  with  thy  tresses,  Ruth. 

It  has  a  fragrance  all  its  own, 

And  we  will  fondly  hope,  forsooth, 

'T  will  honor  thee  when  older  grown, 
As  once  the  Hebrew  maiden,  Ruth. 

For  even  now  thy  speaking  eyes 

And  nut-brown  cheeks  reveal  the  truth 

That  much  of  hidden  beauty  lies 
Within  thy  loving  bosom,  Ruth. 

God  shield  thee  with  His  tender  care 
Through  all  the  perils  of  thy  youth  ; 

And  make  thy  eve  of  life  as  fair 
As  is  its  cloudless  morning,  Ruth. 
170 


SONG   OF   THE  CHIP-BIRD. 

HEN  the  early  flowers  were  blooming 

All  around  my  cottage  door, 
Came  a  little  chip-bird,  singing 
To  his  gentle  mate  once  more ; 
And  his  song  was  full  of  meaning 

And  of  gladness  unto  me, 
"  Let  us  build  our  nest,  my  darling, 
In  this  arbor-vitae  tree." 

It  seemed  strange  that  they  had  chosen 

Near  our  door  to  make  their  nest; 
But  they  sought  not  for  our  guidance 

In  this  matter  of  their  quest. 
So  his  song  for  days  that  followed 

Had  a  gracious  charm  for  me, 
"  Let  us  build  our  nest,  my  darling, 

In  this  arbor-vitae  tree." 

When  June  came  with  smiles  and  roses. 

Sat  the  chip-bird  on  her  nest ; 
And  a  brood  of  birdlings  nestled 

Closely  to  her  downy  breast ; 
171 


1 72  DOMESTIC. 

There,  with  love  that  knew  no  changing, 
They  were  nourished  day  by  day, 

Till,  their  tiny  wings  unfolding, 
To  the  fields  they  flew  away. 

Now  the  summer  sun  is  waning, 

Drowsy  is  the  cricket's  tune, 
Still  my  heart  is  with  the  chip-birds, 

And  the  rosy  month  of  June  : 
For  they  came  like  rays  of  sunlight, 

Singing  round  my  cottage  door ; 
And  my  heart  the  blessing  pondereth, 

For  its  good  forevermore. 


AN   EPISTLE   FROM   THE   RHINE. 


To  M. 

E  are  here,  but  not  with  thee, 
Thou,  who  art  beyond  the  sea 
Whose  delight  it  was  to  trace 


Scenes  of  beauty  and  of  grace, 
In  the  river  rushing  by ; 
In  the  rainbow-tinted  sky  ; 
In  the  soft  wind's  lullaby ; 
Thou,  who  never  canst  forget, 
How  the  bright  sun  rose  and  set, 
On  that  day  when  like  a  dream, 
We  passed  swiftly  down  the  stream. 
By  full  many  a  storied  shrine, 
Of  the  castellated  Rhine  ; 
When  the  grand  Cathedral  towers 
Cast  their  shadows  over  ours  ; 
Those  were  halcyon  days,  my  child, 
All  serene  and  undefiled. 


1 74  DOMESTIC. 

But  a  fleeting  hour  ago, 
When  the  sun  was  waning  low, 
In  the  dreamy  town  of  Bonn, 
Quietly  we  looked  upon 
Those  fair  heights,  the  seven  hills, 
Which  the  stranger's  bosom  thrills, 
Sailing  up  the  fairy  Rhine, 
River  worshipped  as  divine. 

Grandly  through  the  purple  haze, 
Of  these  sweet  autumnal  days, 
Rise  their  summits,  evermore 
Guarding  there  the  mystic  shore. 
Was  it  fancy,  as  farewell 
From  our  lips  reluctant  fell, 
That  beneath  the  evening  sky, 
They  too  waved  to  us,  "  Good-by  !  " 

COLOGNE,  1878. 


OUR   COTTAGE    HOME.     No.  i. 


It  was  a  cherished  desire  of  mine  during  a  prolonged  absence  in 
Europe  in  the  years  1877-8-9,  to  have  on  my  return  home  a 
rural  residence,  where  my  family  and  friends  could  come  and 
enjoy,  with  us,  the  pleasures  of  domestic  life. 

HOPE,  whenever  I  return, 
Dear  native  land  to  thee  ! 
To  have  a  cot  where  I  may  dwell, 
By  riverside  or  lea  ; 
Whose  charm  should  be  its  home-like  look, 

And  unpretending  air, 
Yet  something  which  might  grow  to  be 
A  thing  of  beauty  there. 
175 


DOMESTIC. 

With  other  comforts,  it  should  have 

An  open  fire  of  wood  ; 
A  daily  paper,  some  choice  books, 

And  simple  country  food  : 
I  'd  have  a  dog,  perhaps  a  poll, 

And  just  enough  of  ground 
For  flowers  to  blossom  at  their  will, 

With  ivy  climbing  round, 
In  this  retreat  I  would  not  care 

For  what  the  world  might  say, 
If  my  small  cot  should  only  lure, 

Some  loving  hearts  that  way. 

Our  poet  sages  long  ago 

These  simple  truths  proclaimed : 
Man's  life  is  but  a  fleeting  show, 

Howe'er  it  may  be  named  ; 
And  more  of  health  and  happiness 

Is  found  in  hut  than  hall ; 
And  our  dear  Father  sendeth  down 

His  rain  alike  on  all. 

The  cottage  that  my  fancy  paints, 
Though  small  indeed  it  be, 

Will  be  enough,  if  large  enough 
For  M.  C.  L.  and  me  : 


OUR   COTTAGE  HOME.     NO.  i.          177 

There  let  it  blow,  or  high  or  low, 

Let  sunshine  come  or  rain, 
We  '11  comfort  take  whilst  humming  oft 

Some  old  familiar  strain. 
With  thankful  hearts,  unvexed  by  care, 

We  '11  pass  life's  evening  days, 
Unnoticed  by  the  throngs  which  press 

Along  the  world's  highways. 

Should  the  dear  children  of  our  love, 

Come  here  with  us  to  dine, 
There  '11  be  a  slice,  I  'm  sure,  for  each, 

But  more  of  rean  than  wine  ; 
And  our  small  cot  will  stretch  enough 

To  hold  the  whole  of  mine. 


OUR  COTTAGE   HOME.     No.  2. 

] HEN  the  trailing  sweet  arbutus, 
Peeps  from  underneath  the  snow, 
And  the  rills  by  frosts  unfettered, 
Onward  to  the  rivers  flow,  — 

Then,  O  builder  of  our  cottage, 

Set  its  corner-stone  with  care, 
And  begin  that  thing  of  beauty, 

Which  my  fancy  pictures  there. 

Let  the  summer  sun,  advancing, 
See  the  progress  that  it  makes  ; 

Rounding  into  full  completeness 
When  the  peach  its  crimson  takes. 

Now  begin  thy  gentle  mission, 
Daughter  with  the  speaking  eyes  ; 

Deck  its  halls  and  chambers  deftly, 
From  thy  storehouse  of  supplies  ; 
178 


OUR    CO T7'A (J/-:    IfOME.     NO.   2.  \JC) 

Bring  your  garlands  and  mementos, 

Gathered  on  a  foreign  shore  ; 
They  '11  remind  us  of  the  by -ways 

That  our  feet  have  travelled  o'er  : 

Ivy,  from  old  castle  ruins, 

Alpine  flowers  from  Switzerland, 

Views  of  crystal  lakes  and  mountains, 
Pebbles  from  the  ocean  strand  ; 

Place  them  all  about  the  dwelling, 

In  and  out  of  cosey  nooks  ; 
They  will  teach  us  better  lessons 

Than  we  ever  learn  from  books. 

Busy  thus,  thy  comely  sister, 

Sharer  of  thy  griefs  and  joys, 
Will  the  cottage  set  in  order 

For  the  coming  of  the  boys. 


Gather  now,  O  loved  and  loving, 
Children  of  life's  early  morn  ! 

Ye  who  to  a  golden  future 

In  our  dreams  of  life  were  born 


180  DOMESTIC. 

Gather  once  more  at  our  fireside, 
Let  the  old-time  laugh  ring  out, 

Whilst  relating  to  each  other 

What  your  hands  have  been  about : 

Bring  with  you  your  buds  and  blossoms, 
Bring  the  firstlings  of  your  flock, 

Bring  the  keys  which  softly,  gently, 
All  the  treasured  past  unlock,  — 

And  whilst  heart  with  heart  cornmuneth, 
Should  a  struggling  tear-drop  fall, 

It  will  be  that  we  remember 

How  the  Lord  hath  blessed  us  all. 

Thus  my  fancy  paints  our  cottage ; 

Thus  to  me  it  seems  to  stand 
'Mid  the  green  lanes  of  my  boyhood., 

In  our  own,  my  native  land ; 

Sanctifying  all  the  landscape, 
Cosey  as  a  song-bird's  nest,  — 

When,  O  builder  will  you  build  it  ? 
For  my  spirit  longs  for  rest. 

LONDON,  February,  1879. 


META. 

^E'l'A,  gentle  Meta, 

\Yhen  the  day  was  done, 
Sat  upon  the  doorsteps, 
Singing,  one  by  one, 
Simple  cradle  lullabies, 
Tinkling  like  the  rill, 
While  the  sun  was  sinking 
Underneath  the  hill. 

Happy  little  Meta 

Knew  not  that  so  soon, 
Over  the  cedar  groves, 

Up  would  rise  the  moon  ; 
That  the  stars  would  twinkle 

Merrily  and  bright, 
While  her  lips  were  murmuring, 

Lovingly,  "  Good-night." 

So  our  merry  Meta, 

When  the  sun  had  set, 
And  the  clover  meadows 

With  the  dews  were  wet, 
181 


1 82  DOMESTIC. 

On  her  couch  lay  sleeping 

As  the  lilies  sleep, 
When,  above  the  valleys, 

Stars  their  vigils  keep. 

Ah,  dear  little  Meta  ! 

Who  that  evening  knew, 
As  the  Night  her  mantle 

Round  the  wide  world  drew. 
That  a  deeper  shadow 

On  our  hearts  would  lie. 
When  the  stars  of  morning 

Faded  from  the  sky? 

Who,  of  all  that  loved  thee. 

Knew  one  vacant  chair 
Now  would  wait  thy  presence 

At  the  hour  of  prayer  ; 
That  our  feet  would  linger 

Round  the  open  door, 
Waiting  for  thy  coming, 

Coming,  nevermore? 

Meta,  angel  Meta  ! 

Waiting  still  we  stand, 
Weary,  — oh,  how  weary  ! 

On  the  ocean  strand, 


MET  A. 

Catching,  'mid  the  pauses 

Of  the  billow's  roar, 
Echoes  from  the  voices 

On  the  farther  shore  ; 
Waiting,  longing,  yearning, 

For  thy  smile  once  more, 
Waiting,  for  that  greeting,  darlin; 

On  the  farther  shore  ! 


MARY. 

I  knelt  to  take  a  brother's  farewell  kiss, 
And  knew  that  we  had  parted. 

LINK  is  broken  in  the  chain, 
A  soul  hath  passed  away, 
A  lute  that  breathed  so  sweet  a  strain 
For  us  hath  hushed  its  lay : 
A  seat  is  vacant  at  our  board, 
A  place  beside  our  hearth, 
And  grief,  that  ne'er  before  was  stirred, 
Has  dimmed  the  joys  of  earth. 

O  Mary  :  can  my  shattered  lyre 

A  requiem  sing  for  thee  ? 
Can  I  whose  cherished  hopes  expire 

Attune  its  chords  for  thee  ? 
Thy  presence  I  can  still  recall, 

Thy  smile  —  I  see  it  now, 
And  softly  doth  the  sunlight  fall 

Upon  thy  gentle  brow  ; 
184 


MARY.  185 

Thy  step  is  lightest  in  the  ring, 

Thy  laugh  is  wild  and  free, 
But  more,  I  may  not,  cannot  sing,  — 

How  can  I  sing  of  thce  ? 
O  thou,  so  early  absent  here, 

So  quickly  passed  to  heaven, 
What  better  than  the  silent  tear 

Can  to  thy  praise  be  given? 

Around  the  spot  where  thou  art  laid 

The  wild  flowers  bud  and  bloom  ; 
The  robin  sings  his  morning  lay 

Beside  thy  lowly  tomb  ; 
And  whispering  winds,  and  winds  that  sweep 

From  off  the  raging  sea, 
Blow  softer  when  we  come  to  weep, 

Who  oft  have  wept  with  thee. 

Here,  Mary,  rest,  as  come  and  go 

The  seasons  in  their  flight, 
As  far  removed  from  mortal  woe 

As  darkness  from  the  light ; 
As  far  removed  —  but  not  so  far 

But  faith,  with  trusting  eyes. 
Beholds  thee,  O  thou  rising  star, 

Ascending  in  the  skies  ! 


SHINE   AND  SHADOW. 

HE  sky  by  clouds  is  overcast, 

And  sadness  rests  on  vale  and  hill  ; 
Yet  comes  there  in  the  ling'ring  blast 
Of  Autumn  pleasant  music  still. 

Not  this  a  time  to  roam  where  smiles 
The  landscape  clad  in  vernal  bloom  ; 

A  lovelier  scene  the  hour  beguiles, 

And  sheds  its  sunlight  through  the  gloom. 

Away  with  sorrow  !   let  no  thought 
Of  coming  care  becloud  the  brow  ; 

Affection  hath  her  chaplet  wrought, 

And  breathes  her  holiest  blessings  now. 

Who  heeds  the  fury  of  the  blast, 

Or  deems  November  sad  and  drear, 

That  shares  the  bliss  of  a  repast 

Such  as  love  spreads  before  us  here? 

Roll  on,  old  year  !  there  's  good  and  ill 

In  every  cup  we  drink  below ; 
Some  smile  will  bless  our  pathway  still, 

As  shine  and  shadow  come  and  go. 
1 86 


DEVOTIONAL. 


KEEP  thy  heart  right  and  thou  wilt  be 
Ready  ever  on  land  or  sea, 
To  follow  the  Christ  of  Galilee. 

O  who  would  such  a  blessing  miss? 
Or  fail  to  know  the  untold  bliss 
Which  cometh  with  His  hallowed  kiss  ! 


CHRIST-LIKE. 

E  doth  well  whose  life  is  daily 
Sanctified  by  some  good  deed, 
Of  unselfish  love  or  valor,  — 


Something,  in  the  hour  of  need. 

Want  and  woe  are  near  us  ever.  — 
Whereso'er  our  feet  may  tread, 

There  a  burden  may  be  lifted 

From  some  weak  and  fainting  head. 

For  His  sake,  if  we  are  willing 
By  the  Master  to  be  led. 


189 


ONE. 


That  they  all  may  be  one.  —  JOHN  xvii.  21. 

N  that  hour  by  all  forsaken, 

Mingling  with  "  Thy  will  be  done," 
Was  the  Saviour's  supplication 
That  His  people  might  be  one  — 

One,  in  all  the  Christian  graces 
Which  make  life  divinely  sweet  ; 

One,  when  as  His  well-beloved, 
They  should  for  His  service  meet. 

If  that  love  so  all-embracing, 

As  he  passed  through  Kedron's  vale, 

Moved  to-day  the  hosts  of  Zion, 

How  would  peace  o'er  strife  prevail  ! 
190 


ONE. 

Metes  and  bounds  are  parting  ever 
Hearts  that  would  in  union  blend; 

In  the  name  of  Truth  entailing 
Pain  and  conflict  without  end. 


With  contention  in  her  borders, 

Over  formulas  and  creeds, 
Zion  oft  is  shorn  of  beauty, 

When  for  righteousness  she  pleads  ! 

Still,  amid  conflicting  dogmas, 
More  and  more  I  seem  to  hear 

God  in  Christ  revealed,  —a  message 
Welcome  to  the  list' n ing  ear  : 

Saying  to  discordant  factions, 

All  of  questionings  aside, 
"  Here  upon  this  Rock  of  Ages, 

In  fraternal  peace  abide." 

For  this  unity  of  spirit 

May  I  evermore  be  strong  ; 

Whilst  the  all-abounding  goodness 
Of  Jehovah  is  my  song. 


DEVO  TIONA  L . 

Let  me  haste  to  lift  the  burden 
From  my  neighbor  faint  and  sore, 

Feed  the  hungry,  clothe  the  naked, 
From  my  more  abundant  store,  — 

And  the  way  my  feet  should  travel 
Must  be  ever  plain  to  me  ; 

I  can  never  err,  dear  Master, 
When  I  follow  none  but  Thee. 


THE   GLAD  ASSURANCE. 

in  hours  of  pain  and  conflict 
Come  these  gracious  words  to  me, 
Full  of  tenderness  and  pity,  — 
As  thy  day  thy  strength  shall  be, 

Not  a  sparrow  ever  falleth, 

Nor  a  lamb  bewildered  stray, 
But  His  loving  arms  infold  them, 

As  they  shelter  me  to-day. 

Ere  the  bruised  reed  is  broken 
He  will  deign  to  hear  my  prayer, 

That  no  trial  shall  befall  me 

Creater  than  the  heart  can  bear. 

In  what  way  relief  I  plead  for 

Is  to  come,  I  may  not  see  ; 
'T  is  enough,  Divine  Compassion 

Will  the  burden  lift  from  me. 

Oh,  the  peace  this  promise  bringeth  ! 

All  of  doubt  and  fear  aside, 
That  my  trusting  heart  may  ever 

In  His  boundless  love  confide. 


THE   GRAVE   OF   THE    DAIRYMAN'S 
DAUGHTER. 

EAR  maiden,  in  my  western  home, 
Beyond  the  ever  restless  sea, 
In  life's  young  morn  I  read  the  tale 
The  village  rector  told  of  thee. 

That  story  of  thy  lowly  life 

So  greatly  charmed  the  Christian  world 
That  it  became,  in  every  land, 

A  banner  of  the  cross  unfurled. 

And  musing  on  these  hallowed  scenes, 
Which  still  the  stranger's  feet  beguile, 

I  oft  have  longed  to  tread,  as  now, 
The  green  lanes  of  this  sea-girt  isle. 

So  tenderly  were  they  portrayed, 
In  lines  the  pastor's  pencil  drew, 

Its  way-side  flowers  for  thy  dear  sake, 
Methought,  in  wilder  beauty  grew. 
194 


THE   JIAIRYMAN'S   DAUGHTER.        195 

A  sanctifying  Presence  reigned 

In  all  its  groves  —  on  hill  and  lea ; 

I  even  seemed  to  walk  with  Him 
Who  trod  the  shores  of  Galilee. 


Oil,  simple  tale  of  trusting  love  ! 

Meek  record  of  redeeming  grace  ! 
What  beauty  lingers  round  that  spot 

Where  Christ  hath  made  a  dwelling-place  ! 


And  so  I  come, — •  not  with  the  blush 

Of  morning  still  upon  my  brow, 
But  weary  with  life's  length'ning  march, 

I  kneel  beside  thy  green  grave  now. 

Yet,  with  an  inner,  clearer  light, 
To  me  at  this  calm  moment  given, 

I  see  again  the  narrow  way 

By  which  thy  spirit  passed  to  heaven. 

And  pausing  here  beyond  the  din 
And  turmoil  of  the  world's  highways, 

I  catch  the  spirit  of  these  scenes, 

Which  filled  the  preacher's  heart  with  praise 


196  DEVOTIONAL. 

That  faithful  teacher,  who  thy  hand, 
Held  in  his  own,  as  down  the  vale 

Thy  gentle  spirit  leaned  upon 

Those  promises  which  never  fail,  — 

With  him  I  tread  these  breezy  downs ; 

I  trace  the  lines  of  shore  and  sea ; 
The  quiet  beauty  of  these  vales, 

All,  all,  is  now  revealed  to  me  ! 

Henceforth,  as  shadows  thicker  fall, 
And  evening  gathers  round  my  way, 

With  firmer  faith  my  soul  will  cling 
To  Him  who  was  thy  staff  and  stay. 

In  that  dear  sacrifice  I  hail 

Enough  for  all,  enough  for  me  ! 

Rock  of  eternal  ages  Thou  ! 
O  Lamb  of  God,  on  Calvary  ! 

ISLE  OF  WIGHT,  August,  1877. 


SHE  HATH  DONE  WHAT  SHE 
COULD. 

[Mark  xiv.  8.} 

TILL  beautiful  along  the  line 

Of  deeds  well  done,  this  record  lives  ; 
And  with  an  energy  divine, 
New  strength  to  modest  labor  gives. 

She  did  not  know  her  Lord  would  place 

So  fair  a  crown  upon  her  brow  ; 
That  in  this  sentence  we  should  trace 

So  much  of  simple  beauty  now. 

'T  was  love  that  moved  her  hands  to  pour 
On  His  dear  head  the  perfumed  oil  ; 

And  love  for  Him  hath  o'er  and  o'er 
Inspired  his  servants  for  new  toil. 

"  Done  what  she  could,"  -— O  trusting  heart, 

No  monumental  shaft  or  shrine 
Hears  witness  to  a  nobler  part, 

A  fairer  heritage,  than  thine  ! 
T97 


198  DEVOTIONAL. 

Be  such  my  unobtrusive  aim  — 
Life's  golden  moments  to  redeem  ; 

The  smile  of  God  is  more  than  fame, 
However  fair  that  prize  may  seem. 


THE   STILL   SMALL   VOICE. 

THERE  is  a  voice  to  which  the  heart  must  listen, 
Where'er  in  life  our  erring  feet  may  go  ; 

A  still  small  voice,  whose  whisperings   we  may 

never 
Tell  to  another,  and  alone  can  know. 

And  so  there  comes  the  doubting  and  the  chiding 
Of  souls  who  fain  would  aid  us  on  our  way  ; 

They  cannot  hear  that  hidden,  silent  mandate, 
We  oft  may  question,  but  still  must  obey. 


STORM    ON   THE  SABBATH. 

OT  many  to  thy  sacred  feasts, 
O  Zion  of  our  God  !   to-day 
Will  upward  haste  with  willing  feet 
Their  early  sacrifice  to  pay. 
A  few —  the  strong  in  manhood's  might, 
And  woman — venturesome  for  prayer, 
And  youth  —  as  buoyant  as  the  light, 
May  mingle  in  devotion  there. 

()  Sabbath,  to  my  soul  most  blest  ! 

Though  clothed  in  sadness  and  in  storm; 
Thou  br ingest  to  the  weary,  rest, 

As  if  thoti  cam'st  in  milder  form  — 
I  hailed  thee  when  thy  mellow  light 

Bathed  spire  and  tree,  and  vale  an  1  hill, 
When  every  scene  that  charmed  the  sight, 

In  quiet  whispered,  "  Peace,  be  still." 
199 


200  DEVOTIONAL. 

And  now  as  huwls  the  angry  blast, 

And  thickly  falls  the  drenching  rain, 
Faith  sees  the  bow  of  promise  cast 

Athwart  the  brow  of  heaven  again  ; 
And  something  in  this  hour  of  strife, 

Through  all  the  paths  our  feet  have  trod, 
Proclaims,  amid  destruction,  life  ! 

Amid  the  frowns,  the  smile  of  God  ! 


EASTER. 

YE  Rail  the  hills  of  God, 

Long  by  sage  and  prophet  trod, 
One  triumphant  paean  swells 


In  the  peals  of  Easter  bells. 

Breathe,  ()  breath  of  Love  Divine  ! 

On  this  waiting  soul  of  mine  ; 
Let  all  fear  be  rolled  away 
From  my  lumk-ned  heart  to-day. 

Paschal  Lamb  for  sinners  slain, 
Here  without  a  rival  reign  ; 
Dearer  than  all  else  beside, 
With  me  evermore  abide. 

As  life's  devious  paths  I  tread, 
Ry  Thy  constant  Presence  led, 
1  shall  more  than  conqueror  be, 
O  my  risen  Lord  !   through  Thee, 
2or 


IN   THE   SANCTUARY. 

"  The  peace  of  God  which  passeth  all  understanding." 

AM  longing  for  the  blessing  of  the  peace 

of  God  to-day, 
O  master  at  the  organ,  as  thy  fingers 

softly  stray 
O'er  its  keys,  for  they  are  whispering,  "  Here  's  a 

refuge  from  the  strife, 
From  the  trouble  and  the  turmoil  of  this  constant 

round  of  life ; 
Take    the  blessing  freely  offered    as  before  His 

throne  you  kneel, 

Who  would  now  His  gracious   presence  to   thy 
waiting  soul  reveal." 

I  Ve  come  a  suppliant  weary  from  a  world  of  toil 

and  care, 
Seeking  respite  from  its  bondage  in  this  hallowed 

hour  of  prayer, 

202 


IN   THE  SANCTUARY.  203 

For  release   from    sordid  passions,   for  grace  the 

goal  to  win, 
As    my    feet    are    pressing  forward    through    this 

wilderness  of  sin ; 
And    whilst    silently    the     tear-drops    from    their 

hidden  fountains  start, 
Touch   the  chords    that   surest  vibrate   with  the 

yearnings  of  my  heart. 

No   care  have   I    to  listen   to  the  paeans  of  the 

choir, 
Airs  that  breathe  of  sins  forgiven  better  answer 

my  desire  ; 
I  have   naught  to  plead  of  merit,  my  unworthi- 

ness  I  see,  — 
Let  the   peace   my  spirit  craveth,  O   my  Father, 

rest  on  me. 


WINTER   EVENING   HYMN. 


VER  my  hearth  and  home  to-night, 
Peace  spreads  her  fair  and  gentle  wing, 
And  hearts  as  buoyant  as  the  light 


Their  gifts  of  love  and  kindness  bring. 

No  pinching  want  my  eyes  behold, 
No  haggard  look,  no  sunken  eye, 

No  mourner  here,  whose  griefs  untold 
Deep  in  the  stricken  bosom  lie. 

I  hear  the  blasts  of  Winter  sweep 

Along  the  icy-sheeted  plain, 
Whose  wail  is  sad  to  them  who  keep 

Lone  watch  where  Want  and  Sorrow  reign. 

But  unto  me  't  is  music  all, 

The  lamp  of  love  burns  brightly  here, 
And  softly  now  as  snowflakes,  fall 

Kind  words  upon  the  list'ning  ear. 

And  yet,  O  God  !  this  very  day, 

My  heart  has  sighed  for  something  more, 

Nor  knew,  beneath  such  gentle  sway, 
Its  cup  of  bliss  was  running  o'er. 
204 


THE   VILLAGE   CHURCH. 

T  stands  where  it  stood  in  the  olden  time, 
When   my  step  was  light  in  my  boy 
hood's  prime, 
And  I  hear,  on  the  breath  of  the  morning  swell, 
Again  the  peal  of  that  old  church  bell. 

It  stands  where  it  stood  on  the  brow  of  the  hill, 
And  strangers  to  me  tread  its  dim  aisles  still, 
While  I  look  around  and  inquire  where 
Are  the  good  old  folks  who  once  worshipped  there  ? 

And  they  point  to  the  graveyard  close  by  the  way, 
And  tell  me  they  've  been  there  for  many  a  day  ; 
That  the  manly  heart  and  the  blushing  maid 
Were  long  ago  in  that  churchyard  laid. 

There  was  one  I  remember,  whose  mild  blue  eye 
Met  tenderly  mine  as  he  breathed,  "  Good-by," 
And  the  clasp  of  his  hand  was  warm  and  true,  — 
But  he  wasted  away  like  the  morning  dew. 
205 


2O6 


DEVOTIONAL. 


Oh,  my  heart  is  sad,  old  church,  as  I  gaze 
Around  for  the  friends  of  my  early  days, 
And  my  tears  fall  fast  as  the  April  rain, 
For  I  seek  the  departed  here  in  vain. 


CLOSE   OF   THE   WEEK. 

AUSK,  my  soul  !  a  week  hath  ended,  — 

One  the  less  for  thee  below ; 
In  this  week  there  have  been  blended, 


Hope  and  fear,  and  joy  and  woe  ; 
Weary  heart,  thou  canst  not  murmur, 

O'er  thy  sky  a  bow  is  cast ; 
One  week  to  thy  haven  nearer, 

Courage  gather  from  the  past. 

Pause,  my  soul  '   a  week  hath  ended, 

What  its  record  borne  for  thee? 
Whom  oppressed  hast  thou  befriended  ? 

Who  the  happier  been  for  thee  ? 
Hast  thou  love  for  hate  requited? 

To  thy  neighbor  wert  thou  true  ? 
What,  my  soul,  hast  thou  neglected 

What  performed  thou  shouldst  not  do? 
207 


208  DEVOTIONAL. 

Pause,  my  soul !  a  week  hath  ended, 

Time  is  bearing  thee  away ; 
Only  for  awhile  extended, 

Is  the  life  we  live  to-day. 
What  may  be  upon  the  morrow, 

God  in  mercy  hides  from  thee ; 
But  so  live,  come  joy  or  sorrow, 

As  thy  day  thy  strength  shall  be. 


"JESUS   CHRIST   HIMSELF." 

[Ephesians  ii.  20.] 

iplHAT,  pastor  and  guide,  is  thy  message 
/;  to-day? 

Through  the  mazes  of  sin  I  have  wan 
dered  astray  ; 

Now,  weary  and  worn,  1  am  seeking  to  find 
In  this  Sabbath  repose  some  rest  for  the  mind. 

No  speech,  howe'er  finished  its  logic  or  lore, 
Can  meet   my   heart's   longings  —  I'm   yearning 

for  more  ; 

For  something  unsullied  by  contact  with  sin, 
The  joy  of  forgiveness,  the  witness  within. 

There  is  an  old  story,  yet  evermore  new  ; 
On  my  prodigal  heart  it  distils  as  the  dew  ; 
It  tells  of  redemption  for  sinners  undone, 
Through  the  sacrifice  made  by  the  crucified  One. 
14  209 


2 1 0  DE  VO  TIONAL. 

You  cannot  exhaust  it,  no  plummet  nor  line 
Hath  sounded  the  depths  of  this  ocean  divine  ; 
It  rolls  round  the  world,  it  laves  every  shore, 
And  will,  through  the  ages,  till  time  is  no  more. 

Then  lead  us,  O  teacher,  where  the  infant  Christ 

lay; 

In  the  paths  that  He  trod  let  us  travel  to-day ; 
And  my  heart  will  rejoice  as  enthroned  I  see 
My  Saviour,  Redeemer,  still  pleading  for  me  ! 


"  TRUST   IN   ME." 

H,  think  not  thou  art  all  unblest, 

Though  waves  of  sorrow  o'er  thee  roll ; 
The  saddest  heart  by  grief  opprest 
Is  under  the  Divine  control. 

He  who  doth  mark  the  sparrow's  fall, 

In  tender  mercy  bends  to  thee  : 
He  throws  His  shield  around  us  all, 

And  sweetly  whispers,  "  Trust  in  me." 

Thou  hast  no  pain  unknown  to  Him, 

Nor  canst  thou  from  His  presence  stray; 

And  ere  the  cup  o'erflows  its  brim, 
He  '11  gently  wipe  thy  tears  away. 

Then  in  His  hands  submissive  lie, 

Whose  smile  can  soothe  the  keenest  sorrow ; 
The  rainbow  spans  the  darkest  sky, 

And  Hope  points  brightly  to  the  morrow. 

211 


THE    PASTOR'S    RECEPTION. 

j|E  gladly  gather  here  to-night, 

Pastor  and  guide,  as  children  come, 
When  the  long  summer  day  is  o'er, 
To  the  endearing  rest  of  home. 

Our  restless  feet  have  wandered  far, 

And,  weary  with  life's  dizzy  play, 
We  hear  thy  voice  as  sunset  throws 

Its  lengthening  shadows  o'er  our  way. 

A  pilgrim  band  with  sandals  worn, 
And  dust  upon  our  crest  and  shield, 

Thy  hallowed  message  lures  us  where 
The  pastures  heavenly  verdure  yield. 

And  so  we  come,  and  sire  and  child 

Their  offerings  and  their  garlands  bring, 

And  wreathe  the  winter  frost-work  with 
The  opening  blossoms  of  the  spring. 
212 


THE    r  AS  TOR'S   RECEPTION.  2IJ 

And  youth  and  age,  inspired  by  love, 
Shall  tread  the  path  of  duty  still  ; 

And  fill  life's  yet  unwritten  page 

With  deeds  of  mercy  and  good-will. 

And  thou  anew  wilt  gather  strength, 

Through  Him  who  hath  the  wine-press  trod. 

To  lead  us  erring  children  up 
To  the  dear  City  of  our  God. 

So  shall  the  hour  be  blest,  and  we, 
Girding  our  loins  for  sterner  strife, 

Will  wrestle  for  that  prize  which  crowns 
His  head  who  wins  eternal  life  ! 


OUR   SANCTUARIES. 


•'Our  feet  shall  stand  within  thy  gates,  O  Jerusalem."  — 
Ps.  cxxii.  2. 


H,  brothers,  toiling  weak  and  worn, 

By  sin  beset,  how  oft  our  eyes 
Turn  from  these  earthly  temples,  to 
The  fairer  temple  in  the  skies. 

We  call  ours  beautiful :  but  when 
Compared  with  that  by  angels  trod, 

How  all  unworthy  seem  the  shrines 
We  fain  would  consecrate  to  God. 

Yet  He  doth  deign  to  meet  us  here, 
And  so  refresh  us  by  His  grace, 

That  His  abounding  love  in  all 

The  changing  scenes  of  life  we  trace. 

What  hath  been,  evermore  shall  be  ; 

A  golden  heritage  awaits 
The  man  who  walks  before  the  Lord, 

Jerusalem,  within  thy  gates. 
214 


ROCK   OF   AGES. 


the  service  of  the  Sabbath, 

Borne  upon  seraphic  wings, 
To  my  over-burdened  spirit 
Comes  the  song  the  church  choir  sings 
"  Rock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me, 
Let  me  hide  myself  in  Thee." 

Yes,  my  heart  responsive  answers, 

As  I  join  the  hallowed  strain, 
And  behold  the  Man  of  Sorrows, 
On  the  cross  for  sinners  slain,  — 
"  Let  the  water  and  the  blood, 
From  Thy  riven  side  that  flowed, 
Be  of  sin  the  double  cure, 
Cleanse  me  from  its  guilt  and  power. 

Yes,  my  heart  again  respondeth, 
Let  the  work  be  wholly  Thii  j ; 

I  can  plead  Thy  merits  only, 
Thou  Incarnate  Love  Divine; 
2IS 


2 1 6  DEVO  TWNA  L , 

'•  Could  my  tears  forever  flow, 
Could  my  zeal  no  languor  know, 
All  for  sin  could  not  atone, 
Thou  must  save,  and  Thou  alone." 

Oh,  the  joy  of  this  assurance, 

God  and  sinners  reconciled  ; 
Free  forgiveness  through  the  merits 
Of  the  Sinless  Crucified  : 

"In  my  hand  no  price  I  bring, 
Simply  to  Thy  cross  I  cling." 

Evermore  be  Christ  my  glory, 
As  I  tread  the  narrow  way ; 
Pressing  on  through  doubt  and  danger 
To  the  bright  and  perfect  Day  : 
"  Rock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me, 
Let  me  hide  myself  in  Thee." 


ZION. 

"  By  the  rivers  of  Babylon,  there  we  sat  down,  yea,  we  wept, 
when  we  remembered  Zion.  We  hanged  our  harps  upon  the 
willows  in  the  midst  thereof."  —  Ps.  cxxxvii. 

SORROWING  souls,  who  loved  so  well 
The  Zion  of  our  God  below  ; 

Thy  harps,  when  on  the  willows  hung, 

As  their  sad  music  ceased  to  flow, 
Breathed  but  the  prelude  to  the  strains 

In  dire  distress,  her  tribes  have  sung, 
Whilst  with  undying  love  they  still 

To  her  dishonored  altars  clung. 

One  day,  her  bulwarks  firm  and  strong, 

Defiance  to  the  foe  has  hurled; 
The  next  has  seen  that  foe  advance 

Before  her  tattered  banners  furled  : 
No,  never  furled,  nor  stricken  down, 

But  over  length'ning  vale  and  hill 
The  watchman's  echoing  shout  was  heard  — 

"The  Lord  of  hosts  shall  triumph  still." 
217 


218  DEVOTIONAL. 

Dear  heritage,  my  soul  adores, 

Jerusalem,  so  fair  and  free  ! 
What  clearer  light  in  coining  time 

Is  yet  to  be  revealed  to  me  ? 
What  greater  victories  of  the  cross, 

What  powers  of  darkness  overthrown, 
Ere  the  .redeemed  of  every  clime 

Shall  Jesus,  King,  Immanuel,  own? 


DEDICATORY   HYMN. 

^.T  King  in  Zion  !  when  of  old 
Thy  people  came  to  worship  Thee, 
And  prophets  to  the  world  foretold 
Thy  name  should  spread  from  sea  to  sea,  — 

How  glowed  Thine  altars,  King  of  Kings, 
With  precious  stones  and  burnished  gold  ! 

What  incense  rose,  while  cherub  wings 
Swept  over  the  anointed  fold  ! 

What  awful  majesty  unveiled 

Itself  before  Thy  people  there  ! 
What  praises  rang  when  Israel  hailed 

Those  consecrated  shrines  of  prayer  ! 

But  when  the  veil  was  rent  in  twain, 

A  costlier  gift  than  Israel  knew 
Was  on  her  smoking  altars  slain, 

As  priest  and  prophet  thence  withdrew. 
219 


2  2O  DE  VO  TIONAL, 

Lord,  who  are  we  that  we  should  dare 
To  build  a  house  for  Thee  to-day, 

If  the  Atonement  offered  there 
We  might  not  on  its  altars  lay? 

We  veil  our  faces  as  we  bow, 

And  feel  Thy  sacred  presence  near ; 

Accept  our  humble  offering  now, 
And  dwell,  Jehovah,  with  us  here. 


NEAR  TO   PORT, 

A  venerable  man  who  had  been  a  mariner  in  his  early  life,  and 
in  old  age  had  experienced  much  domestic  bereavement,  on  being 
borne  from  the  sanctuary,  a  smitten  paralytic,  whispered,  "  NEAR 
TO  PORT,''  and  died. 

X  aged  man  by  sorrow  bowed, 
Looked  on  a  sky  without  a  cloud, 
And  hailed,  as  from  his  bed  he  rose, 

Another  day  of  pure  repose. 

The  echoes  of  the  Sabbath  bell 

Upon  his  chastened  spirit  fell. 

He  trod  with  reverential  air 

The  consecrated  aisles  of  prayer, 

And  felt  a  presence  from  above, 

Descending  as  the  Heavenly  Dove. 

No  place  to  him  could  be  more  sweet 

Than  sitting  at  his  Master's  feet ; 

For  foretastes  wonderful  were  given 

Of  the  sabbatic  rest  of  heaven, 

And  his  heart  cried,  "  Dear  Lord,  how  long 

Ere  I  may  sing  the  conqueror's  song?" 
221 


222  DEVOTIONAL. 

The  prayer  had  but  escaped  his  breast, 

When  visions  of  his  longed-for  rest 

Came  to  him  with  o'erpowering  might, 

And  thrilled  him  with  excess  of  light. 

He  felt  the  mortal  man  give  way, 

The  spirit  loosened  from  its  clay, 

And  cried  again,  "  Dear  Lord,  is  this 

The  dawning  of  immortal  bliss?" 

And,  as  the  pearly  gates  swung  wide, 

"  NEAR  TO  THE  PORT,"  he  breathed,  and  died. 

Near  to  the  Port !     O  mariner, 
Thy  message  does  my  spirit  stir, 
As  pressing  on  through  doubts  and  fears, 
I  fain  would  know  what  round  of  years 
Before  me  lies,  ere  toil  shall  cease, 
And  conflict  end  in  perfect  peace,  — 
Ere  my  worn  feet  shall  surely  press 
The  temples  of  His  Holiness,  — 
Ere,  treacherous  seas  and  perils  past, 
I  anchor  safe  in  Port  at  last. 


MEMORIAL. 


MEMORIES  of  the  past 

Come  like  the  shadows  o'er  the  landscape  cast : 
Vet  why,  O  faithless  heart,  shouldst  thou  repine? 
There  could  not  be  a  shadow,  did  not  the  sun 
still  shine. 


THE    GREAT   MYSTERY. 

THE  mystery  of  mysteries  ! 

So  far  and  yet  so  near, 
Is  the  land  of  the  Immortals, 
To  our  earthly  dwelling  here  ! 
So  wide,  and  yet  so  narrow, 

Is  the  stream  which  flows  between 
The  present  and  the  future, 
The  seen  and  the  unseen  ! 


THE   SMITTEN   PRESIDENT.1 


!  sea-breeze  on  the  Jersey  shore, 
Borne  fresh  the  wild  Atlantic  o'er  ! 
A  hero  waiteth  on  the  strand, 


The  prostrate  chieftain  of  our  land. 

His  chariot  on  the  swift  winds  flew, 

So  much  he  longed  to  be  with  you. 

More  than  two  summer  moons  ago 

The  assassin's  bullet  laid  him  low ; 

And,  through  long  days  and  nights  of  pain, 

He  sought  the  mastery  to  gain 

O'er  Death,  whose  sternly  upraised  dart 

Well-nigh  had  pierced  his  manly  heart. 

'T  is  life  or  death  :  all  human  aid 
To  stay  the  foe  has  been  arrayed  ; 
But  earnest  hearts  that  never  quail, 
That  scarce  dare  hope  yet  would  not  fail, 

1  James  A.  Garfield. 
226 


T1JE   SMITTEN  PRESIDENT,  22  / 

Prop  up  the  wasting  victim  still,  — 

O  master  of  the  mighty  will  ! 

Good  cheer  to-day  !     Brave  heart,  good  cheer  ! 

Hope  dawns  upon  thy  pathway  here. 

Fan  him  to  sleep,  ()  ocean  bree/e  ! 
Sing  to  him  lullabies,  whispering  trees  ! 
Temper  thy  rays,  O  fervid  sun  ! 
For  th'  race  his  feet  have  yet  to  run  ; 
Light  up  his  pathway,  harvest  moon  ! 
Grant  him,  O  health  !   the  longed-for  boon; 
Nurse  him,  kind  hearts  on  the  Jersey  shore, 
Till  his  dread  conflict  with  death  is  o'er  ! 

September   10,   iSSi. 


THE   LAST   MAN   AT  HIS   GUNS. 


ELL  done  !  and  more  thou  couldst  not  do, 

Brave  scion  of  the  Pilgrim  stock  ! 
When  death's  defiant  missiles  flew, 


And  warriors  quailed  before  the  shock, 
And  Gettysburg  ran  red  with  blood, 

And  fiercer  frowned  the  angry  sky, 
Unawed  thy  spirit  met  its  doom, 

Daring  to  conquer  and  to  die. 

What  though  thy  comrades  fell  in  heaps, 

As  the  great  wave  of  battle  rolled  ? 
And  strong  men  trembled  as  the  foe 

Swept  on  with  fury  uncontrolled? 
Had  not  thy  heart  its  fealty  sworn 

To  the  old  flag  whate'er  the  cost? 
And  from  that  foe  thou  wouldst  not  turn, 

Though  all  but  thy  dear  life  were  lost. 
228 


THE  LAST  M.-LV  AT  HIS   GUNS.       22$ 

Oh,  when  Columbia  gathers  up 

Her  jewels  from  that  dreadful  strife, 
And  weaves  her  fairest  garlands  round 

The  forms  once  radiant  with  life,  — 
In  her  long  line  of  honored  dead 

High  on  the  roll  thy  name  will  stand, 
The  hero  who  sublimely  died, 

For  Freedom  and  his  native  land. 


ALOXZO  H.  CUSIIIXG,  Captain  of  Company  A, 
4th  Regiment  of  U.  S.  Artillery,  killed  at  the  battle 
of  Gettysburg,  was  literally  the  last  man  at  his  guns. 
He  was  born  in  Wisconsin,  January  19,  1841,  and  was 
descended  on  both  sides  from  the  Puritans  of  Massa 
chusetts.  At  the  age  of  sixteen  he  entered  the  U.  S. 
Military  Academy  at  West  Point,  and  graduated  with 
honor  in  June,  1861.  He  was  commissioned  soon 
after  as  First  Lieutenant  of  Artillery. 

When  General  McClellan  took  command  of  the 
Army  of  the  Potomac,  Lieutenant  Cushing  accepted 
the  position  of  Chief  of  Ordnance,  with  the  rank  of 
Captain,  on  General  Sumner's  staff.  He  was  recom 
mended  for  two  brevets  for  his  gallantry  during  the 
Peninsula  campaign. 

February,  1863,  he  assumed  command  of  Com 
pany  A,  4th  Regiment  of  U.  S.  Artillery.  The  battery 
took  a  highly  creditable  part  in  the  battle  of  Chancel- 
lorsville,  but  it  remained  for  the  terrible  struggle  of 
Gettysburg  to  call  out  the  heroism  of  his  nature,  and 


230  MEMORIAL. 

stamp  him,  in  the  language  of  General  Hancock, 
'•  the  bravest  man  I  ever  saw." 

His  battery  was  posted  on  the  left  slope  of  Ceme 
tery  Hill,  and  was  in  continuous  action  for  two  days. 
The  Commander  of  the  Artillery  advised  him  to  fall 
back,  fearing  his  guns  would  be  lost.  He  answered. 
"  Let  the  battery  go;  we  '11  go  with  it." 

He  was  twice  wounded,  and  was  implored  to  leave 
the  field,  but  refused  to  desert  his  post,  and  continued 
by  the  side  of  his  last  gun,  hurling  the  advancing  foe 
back  with  a  final  discharge  as  they  reached  the  very 
muzzle  of  his  piece,  thereby  enabling  the  infantry  to 
crown  the  repulse  with  decisive  victory.  At  this  mo 
ment  a  musket-ball  struck  him.  wounding  him  mor 
tally.  He  sank  to  the  ground,  but  refused  to  be 
removed  from  the  field,  signifying  his  desire  to  remain 
and  die  with  his  battery. 

At  the  time  of  his  death,  Captain  Cushing  was 
twenty-two  years  of  age.  In  person  he  was  fully  six 
feet  high,  handsomely  and  powerfully  built,  with 
prominent,  clear  blue  eyes  and  light  brown  hair. 

His  remains  were  interred,  with  military  honors, 
at  West  Point,  on  Sunday,  the  I2th  day  of  July,  1863. 

The  services  rendered  by  the  Cushing  brothers 
in  conflicts  with  the  Indians  and  in  the  Civil  War 
have  not  been  surpassed  by  any  family  in  the  United 
States. 

MILTON  B  CUSHING, 

Paymaster  in  U.  S.  Navy,  died  1887. 
HOWARD  CUSHING,  LIEUT.  3RD  U.  S.  CAVALRY, 

Killed  by  Indians  in  Arizona. 


I'JIE   LAST  MAN  AT  HIS   GUXS.        23  [ 

ALOXZO  H.  GUSHING, 

Killed  at  Gettysburg,  July  3rd,  i<%3. 
WILLIAM  B.  GUSHING,  LIEUTENANT, 

Commander  U.  S.  Navy,  and  hero  of  the  Albemarle, 

died  1874. 

Their  mother,  MARY  B.  SMITH  GUSHING,  was 
descended  from  Samuel  Bass,  who  married  Ruth 
Alden,  daughter  of  John  and  Priscilla  Alden,  of 
J'ilgrim  memory.  She  was  a  lady  of  rare  force  and 
beauty  of  character,  and  died,  much  respected,  in  1891, 
aged  eighty-three  years;  having  survived  her  sons, 
who  so  honored  her  in  the  service  they  rendered 
their  country  in  times  of  trial  and  adversity. 


BURIAL   OF   MRS.   JUDSON. 

SARAH  BOARUMAN  JUUSON  was  the  second  wife  of  Adoni 
ram  Judson,  the  distinguished  missionary  to  India.  She  was 
returning  home  after  an  absence  of  twenty  years,  when  she  died 
near  the  Island  of  St.  Helena,  where  she  was  buried  September 
15,  1845. 

MOURNFULLY,  tenderly, 
Bear  onward  the  dead  ; 

Where  the  warrior  has  lain, 

Let  the  Christian  be  laid  ; 
No  place  more  befitting, 

O  Rock  of  the  sea  ! 
Never  such  treasure 
Was  hidden  in  thee  ! 

Mournfully,  tenderly, 

Solemn  and  slow ; 
Tears  are  bedewing 

The  path  as  ye  go  — 
Kindred  and  strangers 

Are  mourners  to-day, 
Gently,  so  gently, 

Oh,  bear  her  away  ! 

272 


BURIAL    OF  J/A'S'.  JUDSON.  233 

Mournfully,  tenderly, 

Gaze  on  that  bro\v, 
Beautiful  is  it, 

In  quietude  now  ; 
One  look,  and  then  settle 

The  loved  to  her  rest, 
The  ocean  beneath  her, 

The  turf  on  her  breast. 

So  ye  have  buried  her,  — 

Up  and  depart 
To  life  and  to  duty, 

With  undismayed  heart ; 
Fear  not,  for  the  love 

Of  the  stranger  will  keep 
The  casket  that  lies 

In  the  Rock  of  the  deep. 

Peace  !   peace  to  thy  bosom, 

Thou  servant  of  God  ! 
The  vale  thou  art  treading 

Thou  hast  before  trod  ; 
Precious  dust  thou  hast  laid 

By  the  1  lopia  tree, 
And  treasure  as  precious 

In  the  Rock  of  the  sea  ! 


HENRY   MORTON   DEXTER. 


COULD  not  know  when  last  we  met 
His  sun  of  life  so  soon  would  set ; 
Yet  he  appeared  to  me  as  one 

Who  felt  his  earthly  race  was  run  ; 

A  reaper  gathering  his  sheaves 

As  fell  the  brown  October  leaves  ; 

A  traveller  at  the  close  of  day, 

With  shadows  lengthening  on  his  way, 

Waiting  a  few  to-morrows  more, 

Till  Time  and  trial  all  were  o'er. 

What  though  the  once  elastic  limb 
And  strong  right  arm  were  failing  him  ? 
1  thought  he  never  fairer  seemed ; 
His  mild  eyes  never  kindlier  beamed ; 
It  was  that  charm  which  comes  with  age, 
The  beauty  of  the  saint  and  sage  ; 
The  spirit,  loosened  from  its  clay, 
E'en  then  was  on  its  upward  way  ; 

234 


235 


I  followed  him  with  love  more  strong, 
As  quietly  he  moved  along, 
And  could  nut  louder  glances  cast 
Had  I  been  sure  they  were  the  last. 

And  now,  as  cometh  day  by  day, 
I  linger  on  this  well-worn  way; 
Amid  the  tread  of  busy  feet 
\Ve  nevermore  as  old  friends  meet ; 
And  yet,  and  yet,  he  's  with  me  still, 
A  bearer  ever  of  good  will ; 
All  that  in  life  made  him  most  dear 
Remains  a  benediction  here  : 
I  feel  the  pressure  of  his  hand, 
That  touch  the  heart  can  understand, 
And  fain  would  lift,  O  mystery, 
The  veil  between  himself  and  me  ! 


THE   HARVEST   OF   DEATH. 

has  been  busy  through  the  wan 
ing  year. 
What    time    that    Spring    awoke,    and 

jocund  shook 

Her  virgin  tresses  in  the  sun,  and  June, 
Fragrant  with  roses,  benedictions  breathed, 
The  Messenger  that  all  men  fear  came  not 
As  now  he  hovereth  round  our  pathway. 
Twas  when  the  branches  drooped,  and  on  the 

vines 

The  purpling  grapes  hung  low,  and  from  the  fields 
The  reapers  shouted  to  the  harvest-home, 
Thy  fearful  triumphs  multiplied,  O  Death  ! 
Not  faster  ran  the  sands  of  the  old  year 
Than  fell  in  heaps  on  every  side  the  slain. 
They  who  had  walked  as  heroes  on  the  earth  ; 
He  1  of  the  noble  mien,  whose  princely  gifts, 
Soft  as  the  dews  on  Hermon,  blessed  alike 
The  Old  World  and  the  New ;  the  weak  and  strong, 

1  George  Peabody. 
236 


77/A'   HARVEST  OF  DEATH.  237 

\\\  in  their  turn,  were  gathered  as  his  trophies. 

Vet  was  his  task  unfinished.      Lo,  one  more,1 

A  peerless  man,  lofty  in  place  and  power, 

In  wisdom  great,  in  action  strong  and  bold, 

A  statesman  honored,  pure,  and  undefiled, 

His  temples  girded  with  the  fresh-formed  wreath 

A  grateful  nation  placed  upon  his  brow — 

In  manhood's  prime,  bowed  down  his  head  and 

died  ! 

And  then  in  bitterness  we  cried,  "  Enough  ! 
-Sheathe  now  thy  sword,  thou  Slayer  of  the  world  !  " 

Then    through    the    land    the    merry    Christmas 

chimes, 

"  Peace  and  good-will  to  men,"  rang  out,  as  erst, 
To  weary,  heavy-laden  spirits,  came 
Tidings  of  joy  upon  Judean  plains  ; 
Vet,  while  through  opening  clouds  the  sun  shone 

forth, 

One  arrow  more  sped  from  the  Archer's  bow, 
And  pierced  thy  heart,2  guide  of  my  early  days, 
My  pastor,  friend  ;   and,  'mid  our  blinding  tears, 
We  laid  thee,  oh,  how  weary  !  down  to  rest. 

So  we  pass  on.     To-morrow's  sun  will  bring 
The  dawning  of  another  year,  and  men 

1  Edwin  M.  Stanton.  2  liaron  Stow. 


238  MEMORIAL. 

Will  warmly  greet  their  fellows  with  a  smile, 
And  wish  them  many  blessings  on  their  way ; 
And  robust  youth,  strong  for  the  race  of  life, 
Will  castles  build  in  air,  and  earnest  men 
Will  plan  great  enterprises,  knowing  not 
That  death  is  on  their  track,  and  fall  they  must, 
As  they  have  fallen  whom  we  mourn  to-day. 

How  greatly  wise  are  they  who  gather  up, 
From  the  sure  Word  of  the  Almighty,  strength 
To  meet  that  hour  which  cometh  unto  all ! 

December  31,  1869. 


SAMUEL   LUNT   CALDWELL. 

than  I  knew  passed  on  with  thee, 
Thou  who  hast  crossed  the  unknown  sea  ! 
And  daily  greater  grows  our  loss, 
Thou  honored  servant  of  the  Cross. 

Thy  manly  presence,  quiet  air, 

That  ever  spoke  of  culture  rare, 

Thy  catholicity  and  truth, 

As  beautiful  in  age  as  youth, 

All  leave  a  void  which  naught  can  fill, 

As,  lonelier  adown  the  hill 

i  wait,  and  watch  the  sun's  decline, 

Foreshadowing  in  its  setting  mine. 

O  O 

llrave,  generous  soul  !      My  early  friend, 

This  surely  cannot  be  the  end 

Of  friendship  steadfast  to  the  last,  — 

'T  is  but  th'  expanding  of  its  past 

To  larger  fellowship  and  love, 

In  the  perfected  life  above. 


239 


240  MEMORIAL. 

Dear  brother  !  resting  on  thy  sheaves, 
As  fall  the  brown  autumnal  leaves, 
It  was  a  fitting  time  to  die, 
With  withered  leaf  and  flower  to  lie, 
When  promise  came  o'er  vale  and  hill, 
"  The  earth  shall  bud  and  blossom  still," 
And  Hope  breathed  her  assuring  strain, 
''The  dead  in  Christ  shall  live  again." 


THE    MISSIONARY'S    BRIDE. 


WE  may  not,  all  alone  and  unbefriendecl, 
The  mission  given  us  to  do  fulfil ; 

The  heart  yearns  ever,  till  its  task  be  ended, 
For  loving  words  of  courage  and  good-will. 


THE    MISSIONARY'S    BRIDE. 

AN    INCIDENT    IN    THE    LIFE    OF   THE    REV. 
AUONIRAM    JUDSON. 

Dr.  J  nelson  was  three  times  married.  His  first  wife  was  Ann 
Hazeltine,  one  of  that  band  of  pioneer  missionaries  who  left  this 
country  for  India  in  1812.  She  was  a  woman  of  wonderful 
energy  and  fortitude,  and  sustained,  as  few  could  have  done,  the 
hands  of  her  husband  the  first  twelve  years  of  his  eventful  life. 
His  second  wife  was  Sarah  Boardman,  the  widow  of  George  Dana 
Roardman,  his  associate  in  the  mission  work.  She  was  distin 
guished  for  great  purity  and  sweetness  of  character,  and  walked 
by  his  side  eleven  years,  ministering  tenderly  to  his  necessities 
through  much  trial  and  adversity.  She  died  at  se.i,  and  was 
buried  at  St.  Helena,  when  returning  with  her  husband  to  their 
native  land  in  1845.  His  third  wife  was  Emily  Chubbuck,  many 
years  his  junior,  and  somewhat  celebrated  in  literary  circles,  as  a 
writer  under  the  nom  dc  flume  of  Fanny  Forrester.  The  dis 
parity  in  their  ages,  and  the  fact  that  she  was  but  little  known  in 
the  religious  world,  caused  the  engagement  to  be  sharply  criticised. 
The  wisdom  of  his  choice,  however,  was  soon  apparent,  and  to-day 
her  memory  is  embalmed  in  the  affections  of  thousands  as  one  of 
that  illustrious  trio  of  women  who  shaved  in  the  labors  and  suf 
ferings  of  this  eminent  servant  of  Christ.  An  incident  which 
occurred  in  his  courtship  with  this  last-named  wife  forms  the 
subject  of  this  poem. 


man  in  the  Pagan  world 
The  banner  of  the  cross  unfurled  ; 
'^\     Where  Christian  foot  had  seldom  trod, 
He  bore  aloft  the  ark  of  God, 

243 


244  THE   MISSIONARY'S  BRIDE. 

And  published,  through  contempt  and  shame, 
The  Gospel  in  Jehovah's  name. 


To  his  commission  so  sublime, 
He  gave  the  wealth  of  manhood's  prime  ; 
The  added  strength  of  later  years, 
When  faith  had  triumphed  over  fears ; 
The  seed  he  scattered  fruitage  bore, 
Which  nerved  him  for  new  trials  more  ; 
Through  grace  he  overcame  his  foes, 
The  desert  blossomed  as  the  rose  ; 
When,  weary  with  his  staff  in  hand, 
He  turned  toward  his  native  land. 
He  left  beneath  the  hopia  tree 
The  bride  he  bore  across  the  sea, 
And  laid  within  an  ocean  grave 
Another  just  as  true  and  brave  ; 
Then  trod,  his  weary  wanderings  o'er, 
An  aged  man,  his  native  shore. 

Oh,  never  round  the  hero's  brow 
Were  greener  laurels  wreathed  than  now ; 
Old  age  embraced,  the  young  man  prest 
With  welcomes  warm  the  honored  guest ; 
His  courtly  bearing,  quiet  air, 
Bespoke  the  man  of  culture  rare  ; 


THE    MISSIONARY'S   BRIDE.  245 

And  crowds,  charmed  by  his  broken  tongue, 
Upon  his  speech  delighted  hung, 
While  Zion  clasped  him  to  her  breast, 
And  bade  her  weary  servant  rest. 

But  Time  a  wondrous  change  had  wrought ; 

And  few  remained  of  all  he  sought  ; 

And  tarrying  for  a  while,  anew 

He  longed  his  mission  to  pursue; 

Yet  not  alone,  —  he  still  must  share 

The  love  of  gentle  woman  there  ; 

Some  hand  must  hold  till  set  of  sun, 

Till  his  great  work  of  life  was  done. 

So,  artless  as  a  child  at  play, 

He  wandered  up  and  down  the  way, 

And  caught  at  last  a  pleasant  smile 

From  one  who  could  his  hours  beguile, 

And  acted  o'er  the  lover's  part, 

And  offered  to  the  maid  his  heart. 

Then  rumor  in  an  old  man's  ear 
Whispered  a  tale  of  doubt  and  fear ; 
An  Elder,  earnest,  honest,  wise, 
The  story  filled  him  with  surprise  ! 
A  pupil  of  the  olden  school, 
He  made  the  law  of  Christ  his  rule  ; 


246  THE   MISSIONARY'S  BRIDE. 

All  plans  and  projects  he  abhorred, 
Which  had  not  a  "Thus  saith  the  Lord." 
Should  his  dear  brother,  growing  gray, 
To  Cupid's  arrows  fall  a  prey  ? 
Should  one  without  a  call  from  God 
Tread  by  his  side  the  paths  he  trod  ? 
Should  gossip  sport  with  Judson's  name, 
With  scandal  tarnish  his  pure  fame? 
Would  the  thrice  uttered  vow,  if  given, 
Meet  the  approving  smile  of  Heaven? 

His  duty  seemed  as  clear  as  day, 
And  conscience  counselled  no  delay ; 
So,  courage  gathering  as  he  went, 
With  solemn  mien  and  look  intent, 
He  to  the  village  damsel  spoke, 
And  thus  to  her  the  matter  broke. 

"  A  rumor,  child,  has  come  to  me 
That  you  will  Mrs.  Judson  be  ; 
Pray  tell  me,  ere  that  Dr.  J., 
Loved  of  the  Lord,  passed  on  this  way, 
Were  you  impressed  it  was  God's  will 
That  you  should  such  a  station  fill,  — 
That  you  should  to  the  heathen  go, 
And  lift  them  from  their  shame  and  woe, 


THE   M/SSfOXAKY'S  1JRIDE.  247 

And,  as  His  herald,  should  declare 
The  tidings  of  salvation  there? 
Had  you  conceived  of  such  a  life 
Till  Judson  sought  you  for  his  wife?  " 

••  No\v,  father  Peck,"  the  maiden  said, 
As  modestly  she  bowed  her  head, 
"  I  trust  the  Lord  is  guiding  me 
To  do  His  will  on  land  or  sea  ; 
You  say  the  Spirit  should  decide 
The  question,  '  Shall  I  be  his  bride?  ' 
I  do  not  know  how  this  may  be, 
l>ut  one  thing  was  revealed  to  me  : 
When  I  was  asked  for  yes  or  no, 
A  voice  spoke  very  plainly,  '  Go,'  - 
So  plain,  my  trusting  heart  spoke  out 
That  simple  yes,  without  a  doubt ; 
And  now  I  hope  that  you  and  all 
Will  see  I  've  had  a  special  call." 

'The  aged  father  naught  could  say 
To  her  reply,  but,  "  Let  us  pray  ;  " 
And,  bowing  with  the  maiden  there, 
He  wrestled  with  his  God  in  prayer. 
He  prayed  for  /ion,  that  her  light 
Might  pierce  the  dreadful  shades  of  night  ; 


248  THE  MISSIONARY'S  BRIDE. 

That  the  poor  Pagan  yet  might  see 
The  sacrifice  on  Calvary ; 
That  God  would  stay  his  brother's  hands, 
When  toiling  in  those  far-off  lands  ; 
That  she,  his  chosen  one,  might  bless 
With  woman's  tenderest  caress 
The  evening  of  so  grand  a  life, 
And  be  the  good  man's  loving  wife. 

And  so  they  mated,  —  you  have  seen, 
When  summer  dressed  the  hills  in  green, 
The  giant  oak,  pride  of  the  land, 
Alone  in  simple  grandeur  stand ; 
And  you  have  seen  the  graceful  vine 
Round  the  old  trunk  itself  entwine, 
And  lend  to  age  a  charm  and  grace 
The  painter's  pencil  loves  to  trace. 
So  she,  fair  daughter,  gentle,  true, 
Sweet  child  of  genius,  fairer  grew, 
As  day  by  day  she  fondly  flung 
Her  arms  around  his  neck,  and  clung 
To  him,  his  all,  whate'er  betide, 
The  missionary's  angel  bride. 

Morn  broke  in  beauty  o'er  the  bay, 
The  islands  of  the  harbor  lay 


TIIK   MISSIONARY'S  BRI !)!•:.  249 

Like  gems  upon  a  sea  of  blue  ; 
From  out  the  west  a  fair  wind  blew; 
A  bark,  with  all  her  sails  unfurled, 
Is  starting  lor  the  Kastern  world. 
I  pon  the  clear,  still  morning  air 
Comes  up  the  voice  of  praise  and  prayer; 
And  tears,  how  free  and  last  they  fall, 
As  '•  Loose  tiie  cable,"  is  the  call; 


While  they,  the  loved,  the  young  bride  fair, 

And  he,  with  thin  and  frosty  hair, 

Wave  to  us  one  long,  last  adieu,  — 

()  memory,  how  comes  back  that  view  ! 


250  THE   MISSIONARY'S  BRIDE. 

I  see  them  standing  on  the  deck, 
As  the  brave  ship  becomes  a  speck, 
Till  coast  and  headland,  native  shore, 
Return  their  farewell  glance  no  more. 


And  so  /  muse  ;  tbere  is  some  heart 
Ready  to  bear  with  us  a  part 
Of  burdens  that  are  on  us  cast, 
Some  one  to  love  us  to  the  last; 
Some  hand  to  smooth  life's  rugged  w 
Some  smile  to  cheer  us  day  by  day ; 
Some  angel,  with  a  radiant  brow, 
Is  walk  ins:  with  us  even  now ! 


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